‘Well, she was the other lady, of course, who called here,’ said William Henry (he felt that he was turning a lively red, and it was so important to him that he should keep his colour). ‘She is to perform Flavia in the play.’ ‘The person in man’s clothes?’ observed Margaret icily. ‘Well, she plays the Page; you can hardly expect her to play him in petticoats. It was not a dress rehearsal,’ stammered the young man, ‘if you mean that. They simply asked me—both of them—to step round to the theatre this morning and render them some professional assistance, which, as it happened, I am unable to do. I cannot for the life of me see what harm there was in that.’ ‘Then why did you not tell me you were going?’ It was the same dreadful question over again. Of course he ought to have told her, and if he had had any idea that she would have come to know of it he certainly would have done so. He looked so sorry (not to say silly) that Margaret’s heart melted a little. ‘You know how I hate anything clandestine and underhand, William Henry.’ ‘I know it,’ he answered, with a deep sigh. His face was one of such abject misery, that one would have said, whatever he had done, he was sufficiently punished for it. Her heart melted more and more; he went on penitently: ‘Of course I ought to have told you, Margaret, but I did not conceal it because there was anything to be ashamed of. Only I knew you would not like it, that you would think there was harm in it—as you do, it seems—where there is no harm. It was surely a great piece of goodnature on their part, after I had disappointed them about the play, to offer to do their best for it, and to get the Duke——’ ‘Did they both go with you to St. James’s Palace?’ she put in drily. He was on the point of saying that there had been only room for two in the coach, but fortunately he was a young gentleman who thought before he spoke. It would certainly not have been a satisfactory explanation, and the very idea that he had been about to make it turned him scarlet. ‘No wonder you are ashamed of yourself, sir,’ said she, perceiving his confusion. ‘Why do you talk to me about “they“ and “them,” when you know that only one of these women had anything to do with the matter?’ ‘Well, naturally, my dear, Mrs. Jordan was the person to introduce me to his Royal Highness, since she has been privately married to him.’ ‘I don’t believe one word of it.’ ‘I can only say she told me so,’ said William Henry simply. Margaret did not give much credit to the assertion of this lady, but she believed what William Henry said. After all, the poor young fellow had probably meant no harm, nor even dreamt of the meshes into which this designing female would have drawn him. He had only been indiscreet and a little surreptitious, and had been rated enough.