He glanced over his shoulder: the two girls had disappeared: now he breathed freely. "But, look here," said he in a most amicable tone, "you’ve had a glass—any one can see that—and it’s no use a man trying to fight if he’s a bit unsteady on his pins; you know that quite well. And I don’t want to fight any of you. If you ask me in a friendly way, I’ll go down to the Royal Oak and have something with you; or I’ll treat you, if you like that better. I call that fair." And they seemed to think it fair, too; so they picked up their companion (who looked drowsy) and helped him along. But they hadn’t gone half-a-dozen yards when two dark figures appeared at the top of the chalk cutting; and these, when they came quickly up, Vincent to his surprise discovered to be the coachman and footman. "Where are the young ladies?" he demanded, instantly and angrily. "Miss Drexel is on the box, sir—she sent us to you," said the coachman—staring with amazement at the revellers, and no doubt wondering when the fighting was about to begin. "Oh, go away back!" said he. "Get the ladies into the carriage and drive them home! I’m going to have a drink with these good fellows—I’ll follow on foot!" "I’m quite sure, sir, Miss Drexel won’t go," said the coachman. But here the soldier stepped forward. He had arrived at some nebulous perception of the predicament; and he constituted himself spokesman of the party. They had no wish to inconvenience the gentleman. He hoped some other night—proud to see such a gentleman—wouldn’t interfere with ladies—not interfere with anybody—all gentlemen and good friends—no use in animosity—no offence I meant—no offence taken—— This harangue might have gone on all night had not Vincent cut it short by requesting to be allowed to hand his friends five shillings to drink his health withal; and away the jocund brethren went to obtain more liquor—if haply they could induce the landlord of the Royal Oak to serve them. And here, sure enough, was Miss Louie Drexel seated sedately on the box, whip and reins in hand; and there was Miss Anna, in the white moonlight, at the horses’ heads. When Vincent and his two companions were in the carriage again, he said to the elder of them— "Why didn’t you drive away home?" "Drive away home?" said she, with some touch of vibrant indignation in her voice. "And leave you there? I was just as near as possible going back myself, with the whip in my hand. Do you think I couldn’t have lashed my way through those drunken fools?" CHAPTER VI. A SPLIT AT LAST.