"Ta-ta-ta! don’t you suppose that I should make a spicier mouthful for the newsmongers than even a member of Parliament?" cried Prue impatiently. "Who is to procure the marriage license and the priest, Sir Geoffrey, unless you do it? Don’t you think I should attract more attention in Doctors’ Commons than Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, M.P.? And surely, you can more easily find some accommodating parson who will keep the secret and be sure to tie the knot so securely, that when the time comes to reap the reward, there may be no slip ’twixt cup and lip. Then, to-morrow morning, you can conduct me to Newgate, on my way to dine with the duchess, and take care that Peggie and I do not get clapped into a dungeon by mistake." "If it can be done so soon," Sir Geoffrey began reluctantly, yet scarcely venturing to make any further excuse. "If it can not be done then," cried Prue imperiously, "it will not be done at all. You may be sure, once I get back to court, I shall have no time for marrying malefactors, or members of Parliament either, mayhap." Sir Geoffrey made no further protest, but considering that the benefit to himself was so undeniable, gave in gracefully, and pledged himself to his lady’s service with many courtly vows. Indeed, the tempting prospect of Prue, divested of her debts, and free in three days to bestow herself upon him, rose before him in such glowing colors, that even Lord Beachcombe’s wager was cast into the shade, and only served to add luster to the vision of his fickle and inconsequent mistress, reduced to sweet reasonableness and proper wifely submission by the judicious use of her discreditable secret. He, therefore, took his leave, having to content himself for the nonce with the tips of Prue’s fingers to kiss, and leaving the cousins to the delightful occupation of turning over their recovered wardrobes, and devising the means of making a resplendent appearance at court with their present possessions and the thrifty outlay of Lady Drumloch’s fifty guineas. *CHAPTER IX* *THE WEDDING* "My mind misgives me," said Margaret, when the two girls were at their toilet the next morning. "’Tis not too late, Prue, for reflection, and if ill betide thee, dear, I shall feel as if I had brought it on thee." Prue turned from her mirror with a petulant gesture. "Tell me, Peggie, truly," she said, with an air of deep concern, "do you not think the hairdresser has trussed my hair too high on top? Would not a curl or two more on the neck be an improvement? Prithee, unpin this lock and let it fall negligently behind my ear. Ah! that’s better." She turned back to the mirror, and regarded her reflection critically. "Am I too pale, Peggie? Do you think a touch of rouge—the least touch—would be becoming?"