“So I hear you’ve got a place about the court, me darling,” said Denis, plunging into sarcasm, with a flushed countenance. “’Pon me soul, ’tis the grand lady you’re going to be entirely! ’Tis the back seat your husband will have to be taking. Glory be to God, what’s a husband? And an Irish one into the bargain!” “Pray, my Lord,” cried Kitty, all eagerness. “Where have you heard the news? For, as I’m a living woman, ’tis news to me.” “Ah! go on out of that.” My Lord was certainly very angry, and more than usually Hibernian. “Didn’t that fat baggage come straight out of these doors? Didn’t she put that full moon face of hers out of the sedan window and bawl to her men to stop, and them with the sweat dripping off them, God help them! And ‘oh,’ she calls, ‘My Lord Kilcroney,’ she cries, ‘’tis quite settled,’ she says. ‘And your Kitty to take my post about Her Majesty.’ Why, all Cheltenham could have heard her.” “Tush!” Kitty’s peach-tinted countenance, agog with delight, fell. “Is that all? Why----” she was about to expound to Denis with some firmness the folly of giving way to passion over an event that was still in the uncertain future, at the same time conveying to him her clear intention to leave no stone unturned towards its accomplishment, when her little black page appeared at the open door, grinning at the sounds of dispute, and announced: “Mistress Lafone.” And if the sight of dusky innocence amused was exasperating to my Lady, what can be said of the feelings aroused by the smile of minxish artfulness? “Good heavens,” cried Kitty. “And what brings you to Cheltenham, if one may ask?” “Good-morrow, my sweet Kilcroney.” This familiarity! “Good-morrow, Madam.” Kitty swept a curtsy to mark her distance, the while my Lord kissed the creature’s hand, positively as if he liked doing so, and him but out of such a tantrum as never was. “And what should bring me to Cheltenham--(no, my Lord, pray. I prefer the little stool. I do indeed)--why should not poor little me be here with the rest?” “Why, indeed?” growled Kilcroney. “And what has brought you, my Lady, if one may inquire?” “She thought little Denis looked pale!” cried my Lord, and gave a great guffaw. “You may laugh, Madam,” said Kitty, as Mrs. Lafone tinkled delicately. “There are feelings which only a mother can understand.” Mistress Lafone was childless. “One excuse will serve as well as another.” My Lord let himself fall into a chair that creaked threateningly beneath his weight. “Oh, I seek for no excuse,” quoth Molly Lafone. Crouching on the low stool, she had a singular air of astuteness, in spite of her fostered childishness. “I never can understand why people should not tell the truth.” She raised arch eyes towards my Lord, while Kitty sat with the majesty of an Eastern idol, and had not as much as the quiver of an eyelash. “I’m here to curry favour with royalty,” she laughed again sweetly, “like the rest of us!”