“I’m sure,” said Nan, stepping up to Kitty, and turning a fierce blue eye on my Lord, “I don’t know what you mean about leading my Philip a dance, my Lord Kilcroney. Whatever points of difference there may have been between us, they’ve been private ones, and my husband, sir, is a gentleman of high principles and good conduct, and if I were not all a wife should be to him, I should be, indeed, the basest of women; but were I----” she suddenly began to shake and tremble upon tears--“were I wedded to one who outraged my tenderest feelings, offended my dignity in public, made a mock of the most solemn vows, and--and----” she flung her arms round Kitty and clasped her, sobbing. Her emotion was contagious. Kitty burst into tears on the spot. “May you never know what it means, my sweet Nan. May your heart never be broken!” The two clung together, sobbing as for a wager, and Lady Flora, whisking out a capable handkerchief, sniffed and begged them, with reddening eyelids, to stop for mercy’s sake. “Don’t, Kilcroney! Don’t, Nan! I’m so soft! You’ll have me off too. I never could bear to see anyone cry.” Even Pamela, kneeling beside her bandbox, flung a gaze of deep reproach upon the sinner. She knew something of the story: her aunt was one who liked to retail a bit of spicy gossip when it came her way. The weight of this feminine condemnation was too much for the unhappy Denis, but his wrath was unabated. “Vastly well, my Lady. Vastly well,” he cried, thrusting the crumpled note into his pocket. “I’ll off with myself, aye, and I’ll take this love token with me. I’ll not pollute your party, never fear; but whatever you hear of me, now, remember, you drove me to it.” Denis Kilcroney fulfilled his dark threat by going straight to the confectioner’s shop, over which Mrs. Lafone had taken modest lodgings. He found her in company with her brother-in-law, Ned Stafford. That gentleman was lying, as much at his ease as he could in the only arm-chair, which was, however, hard and slippery, being covered with horsehair. His hands were joined by the finger-tips, his eyes were closed. With a resigned lift of eyebrow he was listening to the little lady’s shrill and voluble harangue. Mistress Molly, in a white muslin morning wrapper tied round her slim waist by an azure blue ribbon, with silver fair hair, scarcely powdered, all unbound, save for where a knot of the same blue caught the curls at the nape of her neck, looked perhaps only the more attractive because her eyes and cheeks blazed with anger. And it was, my Lord Kilcroney saw with relief, a dry anger; for his Kitty, playing the victim while exercising such--yes! dash it, the only word was spite!--had added exasperation to his sense of injury.