The little procession was so irresistibly funny that the duchess, at first rather disturbed by the rising tide of laughter and applause, as soon as she set eyes upon the cause of it, joined in with the utmost heartiness, and even the queen, who sat beside her in a chair of state, vouchsafed a smile of genuine amusement, rare enough upon the face of that woman of few emotions. Dancing was going on in the great ball-room, but Prue refused to dance. "I dare not leave my lamb at the mercy of all these wolves," she declared, in a falsetto voice that deceived no one. "Is there no grassy nook where I can repose, while my pet frolics round me?" "Certainly," said a voice, which she recognized as Sir Geoffrey’s. "There are secluded retreats in the conservatories sacred to Chloris and her flock—" "Including Strephon? No, thank you," and warning him off with her crook, she roamed about, launching the harmless arrows of her ready wit against such of the guests as she recognized, or pretended to. Presently a voice began to murmur close behind her— "Her hair, In ringlets rather dark than fair, Does down her ivory bosom roll, And hiding half, adorn the whole. In her high forehead’s fair half-round Love sits in open triumph crown’d. Her lips, no living bard, I weet, May say how red, how round, how sweet—" "Oh! hush!" cried Prue, in a great flutter; "how could you be so rash? You will be recognized." She turned a quick, timid glance backward, and was promptly reassured. The tall, stately figure, picturesquely draped in a voluminous red domino, had nothing about it to attract attention, and a red mask with a deep fall of gold-lace concealed the entire face, except the firm mouth and strong, square chin. "What made you come here, of all places in the world?" she asked. "Chiefly to see you, but partly because I had business here," he answered. Poor Prue thought of the bank-notes, and almost collapsed. What business could a highwayman have at a ball unless to rob the guests while pretending to be one of them? Just then Peggie drew her attention by pulling at the cord. "For Heaven’s sake," she whispered, "come out of this crowd. I am so hot, muffled in this sheepskin, I shall die if I don’t get to the air." Prue signed to Robin to follow, and led her lambkin away. Outside the ball-room, they were soon in comparative solitude. In the card-rooms a few elderly people had thrown off their masks and given themselves over to the full enjoyment of whist and écarté. Here and there a tête-à-tête was progressing behind the kindly shelter of albums or portfolios. In the library a sedate couple mused side by side over the latest number of the _Spectator_, upside down, while two or three portly, be-starred and be-ribboned fogies discussed the threatened Jacobite uprising over an exclusive bottle of Burgundy.