“Aye, lad, tea’s ready. As for you, young man, if you’ll drink wi’ me as they name witch, an’ bean’t fruttened lest I blast ’ee wi’ a look o’ my eye—come your ways to tea.” Following her into the cottage, Sir John beheld yet other unexpected wonders, as the handleless cups of exquisite ware, the beautiful Chinese teapot, the tray of priceless Chinese lacquer. “Aha, you may stare, young man!” nodded old Penelope. “There bean’t a lady in arl the land can show ’ee sech chaney as mine.... Jarge give it tu me!” “Why, ye see, sir,” added Mr. Potter apologetically, “I bean’t married!” “An’ look at the lace in my cap, young man ... real French point—arl from Jarge.” “Why, ye see, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter again, “I aren’t got no sweet’eart!” And thus Sir John Dering, sitting between old Penelope Haryott the witch, and Mr. George Potter the guileless, drank smuggled tea out of smuggled china, talked and listened, asked questions and answered them, and enjoyed it all uncommonly well. CHAPTER XVI DESCRIBES A SCANDALOUS ITEM OF FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF “The Barrasdaile” was back in town and all the beaux of Mayfair were agog, and forthwith hasted to give her welcome. They came by coach, in sedan chairs, on horseback and afoot; battered beaux wise in wine and women, sprightly beaux wise in town gossip and the latest mode, youthful beaux wise in nothing as yet; but one and all they gathered from every point of the compass and clad in all the colours of the spectrum, passioning for her wealth, eager for her rank, allured by her youth, or smitten by her beauty, agreeable to their own respective ages and conditions; they came to flourish hats gracefully, shoot ruffles languidly, flutter handkerchiefs daintily, tap snuff-boxes dreamily, to stare, ogle, smile, frown, sigh and languish, each according to his nature. And chief amongst these, my Lord Sayle, more completely assured of himself than usual, if it were possible; and this by reason that His Majesty (so gossip had it) was about to reinstate him in the royal favour and make him Lord-Lieutenant of his county besides, on condition that he put down the damnable practice of smuggling in his neighbourhood. Be this as it may, it was an indisputable fact (rumour was positive on this point) that His Majesty had received him, deigned him a nod, and chattered at him in German, whereupon other gentlemen immediately bowed to him, renewed acquaintance and congratulated him in English. Thus my Lord Sayle found himself in very excellent spirits. Now upon the very morning of my Lady Barrasdaile’s so triumphant return, it befell that _The Satyric Spy, or Polite Monitor_, most scandalous and (consequently) most carefully perused of journals, came out with the following items of fashionable intelligence: