“Tell me, or I’ll brain you where you stand.” Percy makes an ugly lunge at his opponent with his fist, but merely as a threat. “That will I not,” says she firmly. What might have further ensued is, at this crisis, put out of the question by the entrance of Kennaston, who, espying Percy the first, cries out joyfully: “Percy, Percy, Lady Diana hath given me leave to tell you she consents—” “Tush, Sir!” interrupts Percy, jerking his head toward the other occupant of the room. “Sir Robin McTart and I have come near to blows, and must fight of a surety, on the subject of your sister, Sir; and ’tis for you to know without more delay that Lady Peggy is up in London, unknown to her parents; that Sir Robin hath her whereabouts and absolutely refuses to reveal the same.” Percy crosses the room, strikes a tinder and lights the candles on the mantel-shelf. “You are cursedly badly mistook, gentlemen, both of you,” says Kennaston, quietly enough. “I’ve got a letter which I found upon my table this very night, just come from my sister at Kennaston,” with which her twin pulls My Lady’s most ill-spelled and crumpled missive from his pocket and holds it up before the four astonished eyes that are staring at it. Peggy in amaze recognizes the letter she had written to her brother the day long since in the buttery, and which she had taken up to town in her reticule and must have dropped when she had paid her ill-starred visit to Kennaston’s chambers in Lark Lane. “Frowse, the charwoman’s daughter, vowed she’d found it a-lying in the entry under the water-tub. There’s an end of your dispute, Sirs, I trust,” glancing from one to the other. “Come, come, Sir Percy, and you, Sir Robin, whom indeed the letter you brought me from Lady Peggy the other night doth most highly commend to my good offices, must be friends,” taking a hand of each. “Nor let Dame Rumor split ye asunder with her lies about my little twin’s being up in town. Gadzooks, Sirs, the child’s not a notion of a difference betwixt Mayfair and—Drury Lane! I beg of you, Mr. Brummell,” as this one now comes mincing in together with Lord Escombe, Sir Wyatt, Mr. Jack Chalmers and others for their game, “for you’ve the graces I lack in such matters.—These two gallants have had a difference, and ’tis you, Mr. Brummell, can set ’em straight again.” “Cards! cards! Spades, clubs, diamonds, hearts,” exclaims the Beau, touching the Queen of Hearts with the toe of his high-heeled shoe, as it lies on the floor where it was shot from Sir Percy’s hand. “Split me! but ’tis them that are at the bottom of every quarrel, Sirs; whisk me, but if a spade, or a club, or a heart, provided it be a lady’s, or a diamond, which the Jews have a lien on, ain’t the only causes for disagreement in this world!” “Correct as your own toilet, Sir!” cries Wyatt.