“Since her Ladyship’s in such a fine mood of generosity,” cried Lydia, who occasionally presumed on fourteen years’ service, “perhaps she’ll pay Mrs. Tabbishaw’s bill over again? Or else my niece will be getting into trouble, and she needn’t look to me to get her out of it, lying to my very face!” Kitty was standing before her mirror, happily setting her flounces into trim, like a ruffled bird its feathers. “And why did you never tell me you had such a niece, Lydia, I should like to know? And what do you mean by burying a fine young woman like that with a creature like Tabbishaw? _Ugh!_” My Lady’s nerves were pardonably on edge. The shriek that escaped her as my Lord Kilcroney marched into the room was as piercing as Lydia’s own. “Good heavens, my Lord, you’ll be the death of me! You should have married Susan Verney, you should indeed, or someone with a cast-iron constitution. Stay----” Kitty’s frowns were never of long duration, and she was in no mood for frowning! “You’ve come in the very nick of time, my dearest love. Do I not hear your coach without? Hasten, hasten to the tavern of the ‘Six Bells.’ Pray, where is it, my dear? Oh, doubtless you know, dearest Denis. And you will ask for Jocelyn Bellairs. You know, Denis, poor young Bellairs?” “Faith, then, I’ve been beforehand with you, me darling!” said my Lord. He was running Pamela’s straight young figure up and down with the eye of the connoisseur as he stood there, a handsome, devil-may-care gentleman; one who patronised so superlative a tailor, wore such fine lawns and laces, and had withal so monstrous elegant a frame whereon to hang them that a trifle of a loop hanging here or a button loose there merely pointed to a genteel carelessness. “Faith, I’ve been beforehand with you! Meeting my Lord Sanquhar anon, he took me to the ‘Six Bells,’ where he had a rendezvous with your _poor_ young relative, Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs. And bejabers,” cried my Lord, with his favourite Irish oath, “if that young rascal hasn’t cleaned both me and my Lord Sanquhar as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.” He paused; the investigating eye fixed itself with a guilty twinkle upon his Kitty’s countenance, where a mixture of strange emotions were struggling for expression. And suddenly Lydia clapped her hands and broke into eldritch laughter. Whereat my Lady also made her choice of emotions, and laughed too. “And troth, mavourneen,” said my Lord, delighted to find the situation so unexpectedly agreeable, “I’m here to say ’twas you were in the right of it the live-long night. There’s not a ha’porth of good in trying to force fortune when the jade has made up her mind to flout ye. And I’ll take your advice, me darling, and go with you into the country the moment we get those devils of I O U’s settled, till it’s time for you to abandon me for that dashed damnation Court of yours!”