'I am twenty,' he said, 'and some months,' with considerable emphasis on the months as though they made a world of difference. 'Ah,' replied Wogan, 'I am of the century's age, twenty-two and some more months. You are astonished, my lord. But when I was fifteen I fought in battles.' 'Was it to tell me this you called me back?' 'No,' said Wogan solemnly, 'but you meet me tomorrow. I am not sure that I could do you better service than by taking care that you meet no one afterwards. It was that I had to tell you,' and he added with a smile, 'but I do not think I shall bring myself to do you that service.' Lord Sidney's face changed a little from its formal politeness. He eyed Mr. Wogan as though for a moment he doubted whether he had not mistaken his man. Then he said: 'In a duel, Mr. Hilton, there are two who fight.' 'Not always, my lord. Sometimes there is one who only defends,' and with that they parted. Clamorous dames took Lord Sidney captive. Wogan looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed since that latch had clicked. He strolled out of the room to the stairs. The door was still shut. He came back into the room and stood by Lady Mary, who was describing to Rose the characters of those who passed by. She looked anxiously at Wogan, who had no comforting news and shook his head, but she did not cease from her rattle. 'And here comes Colonel Montague with a yellow bundle of bones tied up in parchment, 'she cried. Lady Rich was the bundle of bones in parchment. 'Colonel Montague--well, my dear, he is a gallant officer in the King's guards who fought at Preston, and he owes his life to a noisy Irish boy who has since grown out of all recognition.' Here Rose suddenly looked up at Wogan. 'It was this Colonel Montague you saved!' said she. 'Hush,' whispered Wogan, who had his own reasons for wishing the Colonel should discover nothing upon that head. 'Remember, if you please, that my name is Hilton.' Colonel Montague led Lady Rich to the sofa. 'Colonel, has fortune deserted you that you look so glum?' asked Lady Mary. 'I am on the losing hand indeed, your ladyship, to-night,' said Montague bitterly. 'Well, _malheureux en jeu_,' said her ladyship maliciously, 'you may take comfort from the rest of the proverb.' Lady Rich shook her rose-coloured ribbons, a girlish simpleton of forty summers. 'I am vastly ashamed of being so prodigiously ignorant,' said she. 'I daresay I ask a mighty silly question, but what is the rest?' 'French, my dear, and it means that fifteen years is the properest age for a woman to continue at, but why need one be five?' Colonel Montague smiled grimly. Mr. Wogan stifled a laugh. Lady Rich looked somewhat disconcerted. 'Oh, is that a proverb?' said she with a _minauderie_. 'I shall dote on proverbs,' and so she simpered out of range. Lady Mary lifted up her hands. '_Regardez cet animal!_' she cried; '_considerez ce neant_. There's a pretty soul to be immortal.'