“’Tis no place for the like o’ thee—thou gentle innocent!” At this, my Lady Herminia glanced at him shy-eyed, drooped her lashes, pleated a fold in her neat apron and contrived to become the very perfect embodiment of all that ever had been, was or possibly could be virginally shy and sweet and innocent. “But I do hear ’tis a mighty fine place, sir,” said she softly, “and I do yearn to see the ladies and grand gentlemen. And, if ’tis so wicked, naught harmful can come anigh me by reason I do ever wear this—night and day, your honour!” And she drew from her bosom a small, plain gold cross suspended about her shapely throat by a ribband. “’Twas my mother’s, sir, and ’tis good against all evil ... and I shall say my prayers!” Now at this, Sir John must needs call to mind certain unworthy episodes of the last five years: his keen gaze wavered and he sat, chin on breast, staring into the smouldering fire. “And so d’ye see, sir,” she continued, finding him silent, “I shall not fear anything, nor any one—no, not even though he be wicked as—as the ‘wicked Sir John Dering’ himself!” “Child,” said Sir John at last, “go ask your lady to favour me with five minutes’ conversation.” “Yes, your honour!” she answered, curtsying, and departed obediently forthwith. Thus Sir John was presently ushered upstairs and into the presence of a tall, handsome creature, magnificently attired, who acknowledged his profound obeisance with a curt nod, and thereafter stared at him from head to foot and sniffed. “Madam,” quoth he, a little startled, “I come to reassure you as to the welfare of Viscount Templemore.” The lady stared haughtily at his dusty boots. “I am happy to tell you,” continued Sir John, “that the meeting will not take place——” The lady, tilting dimpled chin, stared fixedly at the topmost curls of Sir John’s peruke. “If, therefore,” he proceeded, “you contemplate returning immediately to England, my friend and I shall be honoured to escort you.” The lady shook her handsome head, shrugged her dimpled shoulders and sniffed louder than ever, so much so that Sir John retreated somewhat precipitately. “Tush, sir, fie and no!” she exclaimed. “I’m minded to go to Paris an’ to Paris I’ll go!” Sir John opened his eyes a little wider than usual and bowed himself out forthwith. “O my lady,” cried Betty so soon as the door had closed, “O mem, did I do it right?” “’Twas admirable, Bet! Didst see him blench and flush? You dear, clever creature! There is that taffety gown—’tis thine, child—aye, and the neck-chain with the pearl pendant! He flushed—he blenched! Come kiss me, Betty!” CHAPTER IV SHEWETH THE WICKED DERING IN A NEW RÔLE