This one was even now, so Sir Robin had got word, up in London to consult a great man for the benefit of his eyes, and ’twas presently agreed between ’em at the Bishop, where the Vicar stopped, that they should proceed together to Vauxhall on the Tuesday night. “I have heard, my dear Robin,” observed the excellent old man, “that there is to be a rare sight in the gardens that evening, nothing less than a most curious novelty just come into vogue in the world of fashion.” “Ha, and what’s that, Sir?” inquires the Baronet. “A party of Beau Brummell’s to come by water to the pier, every soul of ’em in masks,—Lords, Ladies, and all persons of the first quality; some of the names I heard in the coffee-room. There’s to be Sir Wyatt Lovell, the Earl of Escombe, Lady Diana Weston, Lady Chelmsford, Lord Kennaston of Kennaston—” “Hold, Sir!” cried the Baronet, jumping about the room, like one demented, the idea bouncing into his pate that if Kennaston is to be there, his twin-sister will also form one of the distinguished party. “What’s to prevent me buying a couple of masks and, with our cloaks set out by our swords, a-joining in this gay diversion?” The little gentleman’s eyes twinkle with sweet anticipation. “But,” hesitates the Vicar, “would such levity be counted seemly for one of my years and profession?” “Tut, tut, Sir,” cries Sir Robin, “I’ll not take a refusal. Hark ye, I have reasons,” adds he mysteriously. “There’s one of the Fair likely to be present who pines to see me, Sir, and whom I yearn to behold once more. There hath been an obstacle,” continues the cold-blooded monkey, “but Providence hath removed it. I pray of you accompany me, Sir, and t’will lead mayhap to banns bein’ read on Sunday se’ennight in the church at Friskingdean.” The Vicar, being carried away by two natural and one of ’em a most laudable emotion, at last consented. He was quite in fatherly sympathy with his old pupil’s ambition to settle in life, and he had that curious hankering after just a nibble at the edge of the flesh-pots of Egypt, which is not uncommon to gentlemen of even his sedate years and failing sight. Sir Robin bought masks and cloaks of black and ordered them sent to the Bishop, where he had agreed to sup on Tuesday and go thence by land to Vauxhall. Indeed he had just now come out of the draper’s shop and turned down toward the Vicar’s inn, when he caught sight of Lady Peggy walking swiftly from him. She had been buying stains for her skin and eyebrows. “Mr. Incognito!” cried he, scampering hither and yon, into the kennel, onto the path, jostling fair ladies’ chairs, running into a porter’s pack, thumping a horse in the nose with his ill-worn weapon, and, finally, gaining on the one he pursues, and dealing Her Ladyship’s shoulder no gentle blow. “Ha, there!” cries she, turning, hand on hilt. Then, perceiving who ’tis, she almost shudders and draws up to her full height.