The last of the equerries to follow looked back at the door, and saw my Ladies Mandeville and Kilcroney embracing and kissing and he thought they were both in tears. My Lord Kilcroney had been among those who unobtrusively joined the lookers-on in the pump room during the Royal visitation, and, beholding the scene, his own eyes filled. In the effort to regain his self-control he turned his dimmed gaze away from the two who enfolded each other in such affecting and unaffected friendship and it fell upon Mistress Lafone. As awhile ago his son and heir, he was fascinated by the expression on the small pale visage. Molly caught his riveted glance, wilted beneath it, and somehow vanished. Not my Lord Kilcroney nor anyone could ever as much as guess at her share in the morning’s business; yet so does conscience make cowards of us all, as Mr. Shakespeare has it. My Lord kissed his wife’s hand before most respectfully saluting that of my Lady Mandeville. At sight of him, Kitty mingled laughter with her tears. “Is it not delightful, Denis,” cried she, “that our sweet Rachel should have had this happy thought? But, oh, my dear love, our little rascals are at fisticuffs again!” “_My dear Kitty_,” wrote Lady Florence that evening, in a letter brought round from Fauconberg Hall by one of the pages in waiting, “_I thought you were dished, I did indeed. And of all the odd tiresome_ contretemps, _my love!... Well, I have not time to say even a word of what I felt: Her Majesty is not fond of audacities and you did, dearest Kitty, the most audacious deed.... Well, never mind again!_