"Pardon my inadvertence, Miss Moffat!" he exclaimed, in a tone less gracious than his words, and bouncing over to the other seat in a great hurry. "Never mind me," said Peggie, stifling a laugh. "I prefer the front seat." "So much the better for me," remarked Prue, coolly spreading out her voluminous skirts. "Did you see the _Spectator_ to-day, Sir Geoffrey? No? You must read it; the article about Lady Beachcombe and the new heir will make you die of laughing. You were too late, I think, to see the beginning of Mr. Congreve’s new play; how do you like the end? Very sentimental, isn’t it?" "I can not say I noticed it," said Sir Geoffrey sulkily; "I was thinking of other things." "Then why come to the play to think of other things?" she inquired innocently. "’Tis an ill compliment to Mr. Congreve." "When Lady Prudence Brooke is present, Mr. Congreve can not expect to attract much attention," said Sir Geoffrey, with an effort to recover his customary gallant bearing. "Do not blame me too severely if I am unable to keep my thoughts from you, even at the play, dearest Prue." As they arrived in Mayfair at this moment, Prue was spared the effort of a retort. Peggie, alighting first, ran into the house, leaving Sir Geoffrey to escort her cousin, but at the door of the drawing-room Prue stopped. "I am very tired, Sir Geoffrey," she said, attempting to withdraw her hand from his clasp, "and must beg you to excuse me this evening. My cousin Margaret will entertain you." "She will do nothing of the sort," said a laughing voice from above; "Cousin Margaret is on her way to bed!" "Then I will ask you to excuse me, Sir Geoffrey, if I follow Peggie’s example. I have lost the habits of gay London life, and two days of it have made me almost sick with fatigue." "Give me but five minutes," he entreated, "and I swear I’ll detain you no longer." He opened the door as he spoke and led her into the room, in which a single lamp, turned low, emphasized the darkness. She stood facing him without a word. Suddenly he tried to take her in his arms, but she repulsed him with a gesture almost of horror. "You forget, Sir Geoffrey," she said, "that I am the wife of another man." He laughed ironically. "Is it possible that you are taking this farce seriously? I feared I had had the misfortune to offend you, and am relieved to find that nothing worse has come between us than Robin Freemantle." "That is enough for the present," she said. "While one man can call me wife, all other men must keep their distance." "Even your betrothed lover, Prudence?" he pleaded reproachfully. "You more than any one," she replied resolutely. "Without you, I could not have married this unfortunate man, and you should, at least, respect the wife you helped him to." "Heaven give me patience!" he cried, exasperated. "Do you really look upon yourself as the wife of this gallows-bird? Pray, do you propose to don widow’s weeds on Monday?"