But homeward way there could be none just yet, for before too many bumpers had been filled and drunk, Beau Brummell had made proposition of a most lively affair, which indeed he had already set afoot, for the celebrating of Sir Robin’s restoration to his friends by the timely arrival and prowess of Sir Percy. This was nothing else than going to Vauxhall by water on Tuesday night, and in masques. A score of ladies and gentlemen had been bidden to join, including the Ladies Diana and Biddy, the Honorable Dolly, the Misses Lovell, Lady Chelmsford, with Lady Brookwood to act as duenna for the unmarried fair. In vain Lady Peggy protested, swore she could not, would not. These gentlemen would not take no for an answer, and once again Her Ladyship perceived, as she reluctantly acceded to the masquerade, how far more difficult ’twas to be out of breeches than into ’em. Percy was to be there, at least he was invited; so much she knew from Mr. Brummell, and, as Lady Diana was positive to come up to town for such a novelty as a party in masquerade, of course her suitor was certain to attend her. Very well! Why should she, whose whole life was to be passed in the compounding of cream-cheeses and the visiting of poor old women, not give to herself one more cause of vain regretting? one more glimpse of him she adored? At that hour, when Mr. Brummell and his guests were doing honor to the supposed Sir Robin, the real Baronet was called upon to receive two most lamentable-looking blackguards who followed the Boots up to the gentleman’s room, unheeding both remonstrances and ugly words on the way thither. At sight of Mr. Bloksey and his companion-in-arms, each lame, bound-up and wound-up of leg and back, with their bonnets pulled down over their brows, Sir Robin skipped from his easy-chair with a gasp, half terrified at the appearance, wholly eager to learn the outcome of the plot. “Hist!” cries he, under his breath, and pointing to the door, finger on lip. “Heh?” responds the villain. “There’s no fear here. We’s well enough known down in our own neighbor’ood, but up ’ere we passes for two pious beggars wot lives by h’alms from the parish church!” A grim smile from his partner confirms this remark, and Sir Robin, thus reassured, says tremblingly: “Well, ’tis done?” “’Tis done,” both nodding in concert, “and,” adds Mr. Bloksey, “we’re both nigh done too! Wot with bullets apiece h’inside of us from the gentleman’s pistols, and wot with gettin’ our h’eyes knocked h’out of us, and most bein’ caught by the Watch when we was a-lowerin’ Lord Gower’s heir h’into the Thames, we’re ’ere, Sir Robin McTart, to ’umbly remind you that we wants more.” The Baronet shakes his head, hands thrust in pockets, clutching purse and pence. “Oh, no,” answers he, “the job was paid for in advance, my good men. Not another groat will you get.”