The shorter female, whom Sir Christopher concluded to be his fair one's attendant,—inasmuch as Miss Mordaunt had informed him by note in the morning that she had secured a faithful maid to accompany her,—was also handed into the post-chaise: the knight followed—and the vehicle hurried away like wildfire. Sir Christopher and the female whom he believed to be Miss Mordaunt, sate on the back seat, and the other young lady occupied the seat facing them. For some time there was a dead silence inside the chaise; but at the expiration of about ten minutes, Sir Christopher began to fidget like a gentleman at a public dinner, who, though "unaccustomed to public speaking," nevertheless experiences a nervous anxiety to address the audience. "My dear Julia—ahem!" began the knight: "I hope you—you don't feel cold, dear?" The female thus addressed threw her arms round Sir Christopher's neck, and clasped him so fondly that, what with the tightness of the embrace and the contact of the fur in which she was enveloped, he might have been pardoned had he fancied for a moment that he was being hugged by a bear. "Oh! dearest Julia—how happy I am!" exclaimed Sir Christopher, nearly suffocated by this display of fondness. "And you, Julia—are you happy, my love?" "Quite—too happy!" murmured his companion. "And yet—methinks your voice sounds strange, Julia," said the knight. "What—what _is_ the matter with you?" "Only this, Sir Christopher—that I am not Miss Mordaunt——" "Not Miss Mordaunt!" ejaculated the knight, preparing to throw down the window and order the postillions to stop. "No—not Miss Mordaunt," was the answer: "but one who loves you as well—or better—and is, I flatter myself, six times as good-looking." "Then who are you, in the name of heaven?" cried the knight, so completely bewildered that he knew not how to act. Charlotte—for it was she—threw back her veil, and, by the light of the shops which they were just passing in the outskirts, Sir Christopher recognised Lady Hatfield's dependant, whom he had seen on two or three occasions when he had called on Miss Mordaunt in Piccadilly. "And who is your companion?" he demanded hastily. "My sister Alice—at your service," replied Charlotte. "But listen to me for one moment, Sir Christopher!" "Well—for one moment, then," said the knight, so strangely perplexed and annoyed that he could take no decisive step. "Miss Mordaunt never loved you, Sir Christopher," continued the wily Charlotte. "Never loved me! Then why did she tell me so?" "Only to laugh at you. It was all planned between her and your nephew Mr. Frank Curtis——" "The devil!" ejaculated the knight. "Go on." "They determined to make themselves merry at your expense, and yourself ridiculous at the same time." "By heaven! I will be revenged!" cried the hero of this pleasant adventure, slapping his thigh emphatically with his open palm.