_Wherein Yankee Doodle is bugled--with a Strong Foreign Accent_ Hearing her name called, Betty roused; and, crossing the room, went to the balcony. Looking down into the court she saw the Five Foolish Virgins standing there below with faces upraised. The big fellow, Dick Davenant, called up that his cousin Molly wanted Betty to go to her straight away--wanted her along--before her guests arrived--she was giving a “tea”--they would meet later--when they had gotten the cakes and looked up “the boys.” All this bawled at the top of his jolly lungs’ strength. Betty called down that she would go. The young fellows waved their hats and marched out of the courtyard, chattering. Betty wrote upon a half-sheet of paper that she was off to Moll Davenant’s, and pinned it on the wall where Noll must see it on entering the room; and, quickly dressing for the street, she let herself out of her room. Moll Davenant was sitting on the side of her bed, seized with a harsh attack of coughing--sitting there, clutching the bedclothes with her long thin fingers. The perspiration came out in a heavy dew upon her white skin. The struggle for breath was terrible, pathetic. When she took her handkerchief from her mouth it was stained with blood. She passed long slender hands over her damp brow and with deft fingers made a weary effort to get order into the bedraggled disorder of her mouse-coloured hair. She moaned miserably, and her eyes roamed heavily over the littered room before her--“I shall never get this place tidy,” she said. There was a sharp brisk knock. The door opened and Betty stepped into the room: “Gracious, Moll!” cried she, glancing at the litter of the untidy place, “we must be quick!” She had shut the door behind her when she entered; she now went back and locked it. Moll Davenant rose from the bed with the sudden and feverish energy of a consumptive, and ran to Betty--the shadow of death gone from her haggard face--the hunted look departed from her great glowing eyes--a flush of delight painting the pallid features. She flung her arms about Betty: “Thank Heaven, you are come, Betty--I was at my wits’ end.” Betty gently unlocked the girl’s embrace: “Come, Molly,” said she, taking off her gloves and jacket--“there’s no time to lose--they’ll be here in an hour. Gracious! What confusion!” She laughed gaily. Moll Davenant looked about her helplessly. Betty kissed her: “Come along, Molly--where are the fineries? We’ll start with the sommier.”