“Peggy! Sweet lips! Joy of my soul, what’s it? Not one warm word for him who only lives for thee? Who’s counted every hour since he parted from you, eh?” The young man draws nearer to her, and bends upon his knee, venturing, as he does so, to take her hand in his. “Since you spent your time a-counting the hours, Sir, pray you, how many hours have passed since in this same room we parted, now three months, three weeks, and a few days since?” Sir Percy sprang to his feet. “Zounds! Peggy, and you flout me so?” “Zounds! Sir Percy, did not I write you—and very well you know writing’s not my forte,—that I’d be home o’-Thursday?” “Aye, but I never got it until this morning; then did I put spurs and leave my uncle in the lurch to fly to you.” “What, Sir! not get my letter? An idle, silly, and foolish excuse. I sent it by Bickers, and trustier man ne’er breathed. He vowed me he’d put it in your hands.” “Peggy, believe whichever of the two you like; but, in mercy tell me! What kept you so long away? I’ve heard rumors of another. Eh, Peg, ’tis not true, swear me ’tis not true? Oh, by the hue of my visage must you know what jealous pangs have racked me!” Lady Peggy nods her head maliciously. “Jealous pangs, forsooth! and you thought to medicine them, I dare be sworn, with vaulting the country over in the wake of Lady Diana Weston, the greatest heiress in the market! Bah, Sir, and you’ve heard rumors! I’ll match ’em. I’ve seen the minx from afar. She is handsome, Sir; your taste does you credit.” “Peg, I swear ’twas but to please my uncle!” cries Sir Percy. “Aye, and so displease me!” “Nay, you know too well that I’ll never do that of my will; but my uncle, as I’ve told you, must be coaxed, and then when once I gain his consent to seeing you, our battle’s won. To see thee, Peg ’s to worship thee! Lord Gower’ll kneel when he beholds thee!” “Our me no ours, Sir!” returned Peggy. “Let’s here and now make an end on’t all. You go pound the roads after your new mistress with her acres and notes, and I—” “Well, you what?” asks the young man impetuously and yet with a certain grave dignity. “Oh, I’ll acquit myself to a certainty with one that’s faithful as the sun, and gallant from his head to his heels.” “What’s his name?” inquires Sir Percy in a hard, strained voice. “If he’s a better man, Peg, and you can say you love him—God keep me!” “His name’s a very honorable and ancient one, he’s Sir Robin McTart, twenty-third Baronet!” “Peggy!” If a thunderbolt had fallen betwixt Peggy’s red shoes and his brown ones, Percy could not have been more astounded. “Well, Sir?” returns she, scarce controlling the twitching of her lips. “A milk-sop, molly-coddle! Oh Peggy, an you drop me, take a better man! Peg, you’re a-joking. Not that bumpkin! I’ve never seen him, but report has it he’s afeard if one of his own dogs looks him in the eye and bays!” “Sir Percy, have you finished?” inquires Peggy with dignity.