Mrs. Courteen's fleeting expression of dismay warned him to prune the luxuriance of his examples, and as at that moment a tap at the door necessitated the instant surrender of Tournai to admit Mrs. Betty farther operations were stopped. Moreover the sudden capitulation involved the fracture of the Worcester shepherdess which, as Mr. Moon sardonically supposed, served to illustrate the point of the story. "You're killed, Tarry; you're dead as mutton. I doubt a cure is inconceivable." Betty held a note in her hands. "From Bow Ripple," she whispered excitedly. _Chapter the Thirteenth_ MONARCHY IN ACTION Mrs. Courteen scarcely believed Betty spoke the truth. Never could she remember such a gigantick wave of elation as swept over her on receipt of the Beau's letter. Yet, without a doubt, it was true. There was the royal notepaper and, as she reverently examined the outside, there was the river of the house of Ripple meandering in regular curves through meadows of sealing-wax. She marked the colour--lilac--as if faintly to adumbrate the imperial purple of Rome. Moreover, the sprinkled sand, a few particles of which still adhered to the surface, smelt of Courts. There were years of authority between the lines of the graceful superscription; the very "C" of the Crescent bellied in the breeze of Royal favour. Major Tarry and Mr. Moon regarded her with an expression compounded of jealousy and respect. Who was this woman, this correspondent with monarchs? "Pray excuse me, neighbours," murmured the widow, sinking into a chair. The seal crackled musically as with smooth forefinger and shapely thumb she gently withdrew the diaphanous paper from its waxen prison; so must the golden bough have sounded to the touch of AEneas. THE GREAT HOUSE, CURTAIN WELLS, _February_, MADAM--_I shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you this afternoon at half-past Four o'clock in order to the discussion of an Affair of the gravest moral Importance._ _In expectation, Madam, I subscribe myself,_ _Your obliged Servant,_ HORACE RIPPLE. "Gemini!" cried Betty, "the Bow will be here in fourteen ticks." "Gentlemen," said Mrs. Courteen with that stateliness which follows from intercourse with Princes, "gentlemen, I must beg to be excused."