Now Mr. Stafford had somewhere hidden away an old grudge against Lady Kilcroney, who had not only jilted him, but had scored off him notably on more than one occasion. Mr. Stafford was far from approving of Molly, whom, indeed, it may be said, he heartily disliked, but to find a close relative pilloried on your arrival at a fashionable watering-place was a set down to a beau’s pride. He was inclined to champion her. Under his languid airs he was very wroth with my Lady Kilcroney; she was making an indelicate fuss; she had lost her usual tactful grasp of the situation through ridiculous jealousy. After all, as Kilcroney himself represented, there couldn’t have been much harm in a kiss bestowed on the open parade in a high wind; between wrist or cheek like enough there was a confusion by one or other of the parties. But Kilcroney’s next remark made him jump to his feet. “As for a ticket for the show, me lad, I’m not to have one, either.” “Kil!” “My Lord!” Molly broke into shriller laughter, and beat her palms together. “And His Royal Highness coming and all!” “Aye, and by the same token I saw that august personage driving his curricle along the sea road on my way here,” said Mr. Stafford, relapsing into his usual rather insolent serenity. Your fine gentleman will not let himself be betrayed into emotion if he can help it. “And I was less flattered than ever at your taking me for him yesterday, Kil.” His sister-in-law looked at him curiously. “But my Lord Kilcroney is right!” she cried maliciously. “Since you’ve grown so prodigious fat, brother-in-law.” Then, having planted the pin-prick which she never allowed to escape her, she returned to the real subject of interest. “Not to be present at your own wife’s entertainment? Oh come, my Lord, this is an Irish way of evading the question. You must think us monstrous simple to credit----” It was a morning of interruptions, for here Miss Pounce and the bandboxes marched unexpectedly in upon them. She was breathing quickly and speaking with volubility. My Lady Verney’s own woman had informed her of Mrs. Lafone’s address in the town, and she had ventured to present herself with the very latest, positively the very latest, to show to her most esteemed customers. Miss Pounce was quite sure that Mistress Lafone and Mistress Stafford--“Is your lady here, sir?” she curtsied to the Beau, who was ogling her jocosely. “Not till next week? Oh, dear, what a pity! I’d have been honoured, sir, to supply a hat or a head for the beautiful Mrs. Stafford. But as I was saying, I am quite sure that you, Madam, and your sister, being such kind patrons of the establishment, Madame Mirabel would have taken it very bad of me, very bad of me indeed, had I failed to seek you out.”