“I said ‘conversed,’ my lord,” answered Mr. Scarsdale, flushing a little. “Then dammit, sir, speak up, sir!” commanded his ancient lordship. “Be good enough to remember that my dem’d ears are not so young as they were!” “As I was saying,” pursued Mr. Scarsdale, making the most of the occasion, “I met Sir John Dering by chance at a wayside inn, not twenty miles from Paris, and had some conversation with him.” “Why then, sir,” quoth my lady, “’tis like you saw this ‘wench,’ this ‘nymph,’ this ‘goddess in homespun’?” “Egad, my lady,” smirked Mr. Scarsdale, “now you mention it, I did——” “Hid?” cried Lord Aldbourne. “What did ye hide for, sir, and where?” “My lord, I say that I caught a brief glimpse of Sir John Dering’s ‘buxom wench’!” “Oh, rat me, but did ye so, Scarsdale?” piped Mr. Prescott. “And was she handsome indeed—come?” “Let me parish, sir, if she wasn’t!” cried Mr. Scarsdale, ecstatic. “A magnificent crayture, on my life! A plum, sir, a glorious piece——” “We believe you, sir!” quoth Captain Armitage. “Dering ever had an infallible eye, a most exact judgment!” “And pray, sir, what was she like?” demanded my lady, rising and approaching the speaker. “Be very particular. Was she dark or fair? And her features ... her face, sir, was it round or oval——” “She was dark, my lady, dark as night!” answered Mr. Scarsdale. “As to her face ... her face, my lady....” Here, meeting my lady’s glance, he faltered suddenly, his eyes opened wider, his heavy mouth gaped slightly, and he seemed to experience some difficulty with his breath. “Well, sir!” demanded my lady. “What was she like?” “She was ... very beautiful ... beyond description ...” mumbled Mr. Scarsdale, heedless of Lord Aldbourne’s vociferous demands that he would “speak up and be dem’d!” “Was I there?” questioned my lady relentlessly. “No, no ... no, indeed, madam.” “And yet you saw me!” She laughed scornfully and turned her back upon his pitiable discomfiture. “For, O dear friends,” she cried, “dear my loving friends, for once our _Monitor_ doth not lie! Aye, indeed, ’tis all true—every word on’t. I was the serving-wench Mr. Scarsdale was so kind to favour with his notice—’tis all true!” “Heaven save us!” ejaculated Lady Belinda faintly, then uttered a stifled scream and closed her eyes. “I sink!” she gasped. “I swoon! O my poor Herminia, beware! Think, mem, think what you are saying! Oh, I am shocked.... ’Tis dreadful!” But here my lady laughed joyously, while all watched her in more or less scandalised amaze—all save Mr. Scarsdale, who was mopping damp brow in corner remote. Her merriment subsiding, my lady arose and, standing before them, proud head aloft, told her tale. “Some of you know that I have long entertained the deepest animosity against Sir John Dering, and with just cause——” “We did!” quoth Lady Belinda, tossing her head. “We do, madam!” answered Captain Armitage gravely.