“Gad, Sir, to touch her hand, her cheek! You’re in her sure confidence? She does favor me? She will not give me hopes, Sir, to turn around and break my heart by marryin’ of another?” “Lady Peggy’ll never marry any man, Sir Robin, I’m of the opinion, so I’d not give that for your chances!” answers she. “Think you she ever cared for Sir Percy?” asks he. “Sir, who can fathom a woman’s heart? ’Tis deeper than the sea; so deep, methinks, ofttimes she herself holds not that plummet that can sound it. Sir Robin, I take my leave of you.” “Hold! hold! Sir, not so fast. Where next may I encounter you?” “That must be as Her Ladyship says,” answers Peggy. “Your inn’s in Pimlico?” “Yes, the Puffled Hen, not far off Battersea Bridge.” “Farewell, Sir, and look you keep close in-doors, and risk no quarrel with Sir Percy de Bohun.” “Farewell, Sir,” watching Her Ladyship turn down the street as he turns up. “Gad’s life! ’twas well he happened when he did, and not earlier, to eavesdrop my bargain with the wharf-rats! ’Sdeath! Risk no quarrel with Sir Percy! Not so long as there’s guineas left to buy corpses with!” and the little gentleman trots over to Pimlico, tolerably well pleased with his evening’s work; there, however, to be greeted with the reading of more newspapers, including that one which had earlier in the day so entertained Beau Brummell and his familiars. Not for a moment did the Baronet mistrust, or have a suspicion, other than that his fame had caused him to be made the subject of such a pack of pretty stories as was then the custom of the press, as now, regarding any gentleman of position and gallantry. Sir Robin’s vanity easily swallowed the dose, and he even slapped his thigh and laughed his little dice-rattle laugh, as he reflected how safe he really was with never a challenge or a brawl to his cowardly credit since he got his first flogging at Eton. He actually mouthed over his prospective wooing, and assured winning of Lady Peggy, and felt a calm satisfaction in the knowledge that the one rival he feared would so soon be beyond the reach of ladies’ smiles or tears. No qualms came to disturb his genial enjoyment of purposed assassination. In those days to kill was nearer men’s tempers than it is to-day. ’Twas with blackguard and man of honor alike, the first redress for even the pettiest sort of a dispute; with the difference of method only, that the gallant blade fought out his quarrel on the open field, while the craven bought a hireling’s dagger to do it in the dark. Meantime, My Lady, by as direct a route as she can fathom out of the labyrinth of her ignorance and her distracted state of mind, makes back to Peter’s Court with her parcel of duds still under her arm. She enters, mounts the stair-case, seeks her room, closes the door, and sits down.