“I thank you, Mr. Brummell, from my heart,” returned Peg, “but I’ve three hundred pounds now idle in my pocket. That will last me, I’m confident, until I reach home, and, by your leave, I’m thinking I’ll quit town this evening.” But Mr. Brummell has no ears for any such scheme. The Beau’s erratic fancy has not been caught by a new object for the mere sake of losing it; his joy in the dash and buoyancy, the originality and naïvete of his latest discovery is genuine, and no argument, of the very few Lady Peggy can offer, but he breaks down at once. “Zounds, Sir! Are you a fool, Sir? Your sire was not one before you. To have half London a-talkin’ about you; all the prints a-chronicling your movements; all the ladies a-dying for a glimpse of you, and you only up in town these few days; and a-proposing to go back and bury your talents for tying Brussels, in Kent! Fie upon you, Sir! I listen to no such whims. Here’s my basket loaded with invitations for you already. Lady Brookwood’s rout to-night!” with a sly glance at Peg’s really blushing face; “Lady Diana Weston’s mother, as you are doubtless aware? The Charity Bazaar at Selwyn’s to-morrow; dinner at Holland House; Almacks’s, and my own little plan for next Thursday which is an outing to my seat in Surrey a-horseback; dinner, bowls, a look over the stables, and home by the light o’ the moon. ‘Back to Kent,’ forsooth! No, Sir, not yet.” A few hours later, as Lady Peggy got into her magnificent suit of crimson satin, gold embroidered; as she beheld her image in the glass and caught the hilt of her sword in her hand, the blood that surged over her face and throat was ruby-red; and, at her wits’ ends for what to do, the girl’s tears forced themselves to her eyes once again. She was to be off soon to Lady Brookwood’s; here she should encounter not only Lady Diana, but doubtless Percy himself; mayhap Kennaston, if he had been able to get him a decent coat to wear in place of the gray velvets! Doubtless, too, all those others she had met in Lark Lane. For the hundredth time she cast wildly about in her mind as to how she could, now at this present moment, rid herself of the hated disguise, get into her Levantine, get home to her mother’s arms, hide her head forever, and never, no never! look into face of man again! But Peggy saw no road. Every path seemed barred, save those that would forever damn her in the eyes of foes and friends alike. “Oh,” cried she in desperation. “How easy ’tis to get into breeches, a coat, a waist-coat, and a wig, but God ha’ mercy! will I ever be able to get out of ’em?” It is to be put down to the credit of My Lady Peggy’s up-bringing in the country with most times only a lad for her playmate, that now she bore herself with not only a fine ease and grace, but also with as splendid a swagger and daring as any young macaroni that carried a sword.