Master L. Good morrow, Mistress Light-o’-Love.

Mistress L. Good morrow, Master Lackland. What’s the news?

Master L. News enow, I warrant. One Greatheart hath stolen my sweetling away to a green nook i’ the forest, where an old hermit hath made them one. Canst thou give me a philtre to poison the well wherein they drink—or a charm to steal upon them while they sleep i’ the Lower, and slay them? Do so, good dame, and by Hecate’s crows I will make thee rich, when I come unto mine own.—The Game at Chess: a Comedy.

Mrs. Montmorency passed out into the sunshine, and speedily found herself on the quiet carriage-way which encircles Regent’s Park. Living not far away, she had come without her victoria, in which she generally took the air; and as she strolled along, her dress and general style were sufficiently peculiar to attract considerable attention among the passers-by. For her dress, as usual, was resplendent.

She carried on her back and round her neck

A poor man’s revenue.

Amorous shop-walkers, emancipated for the day, stared impudently into her face, and wheeled round on their heels to look at her. Shop-girls in their Sunday finery giggled as they passed her. Quite unconscious of and indifferent to the attention she attracted, she walked lightly on, holding up a black parasol lavishly ornamented with valuable lace.

As she walked, she reflected. In reality, she was rather sorry for Bradley than otherwise, though she still resented the indignant and scornful terms in which he had described her class to his congregation. But she was not malicious for the mere sake of malice; and she was altogether too indifferent to Bradley personally to feel the slightest interest in his affairs. She knew she had used him ill, that he and she were altogether unfit persons ever to have come together, and no persuasion whatever would have made her resume her old position in relation to him. Thus, unless she could gain something substantial by molesting him and reminding society of her existence, she was quite content to let him alone.

As she reached the south side of the park, she heard a footstep behind her, and the next moment George Craik joined her, out of breath.

‘Well?’ he said questioningly.

‘Well!’ she repeated, smiling.

‘Did you see him?’

‘Yes. I found him in the vestry of his church, and reminded him that we had met before.’

‘Just so,’ said the young man; ‘but now I want you to tell me, as you promised to do, exactly what you know about him. I’ve put this and that together, and I suppose there used to be something between you. Is it anything which gives you a hold upon the scoundrel now?’

‘Perhaps,’ she replied quietly. ‘However, I’ve made up my mind not to tell you anything more at present.’

‘But you promised,’ said the young man, scowling.

‘I dare say I did, but ladies’ promises are seldom kept, mon cher. Besides, what do you want me to tell, and, above all, what am I to get by siding with you against him?’

‘If you can do or say anything to convince my cousin he is a rascal,’ said George eagerly, ‘if you can make her break off her friendship with him, my father would pay you any amount of money.’

‘I’m not hard up, or likely to be. Money is of no consequence. Really, I think this is no affair of mine.’

‘But what’s the mystery?’ demanded the other. ‘I mean to find out, whether you tell me or not; and I have my suspicions, mind you! Dottie Destrange tells me that you were once married. Is that true? and is this the man? I’d give a thousand pounds to hear you answer, “yes.”’

Mrs. Montmorency smiled, and then laughed aloud, while George Craik continued:

‘Even if you could show that you and Bradley once lived together, I think it would serve the purpose. I know my cousin’s temper. She thinks the fellow a saint, but if he were once degraded in her opinion, she would throw him over like a shot.’

‘And take you in his place, you think?’

‘Perhaps; I don’t know.’ ‘What a fool you must think me!’ said Mrs. Montmorency, sarcastically. ‘I am to rake up all my past life, make myself the common talk of the world, all to oblige you. Can’t do it, mon cher. It wouldn’t be fair, either to myself or to the man.’

At that moment a hansom passed, and she beckoned to the driver with her parasol.

‘Au revoir,’ she cried, stepping into the vehicle. ‘Come and see me in a few days, and I shall have had time to think it over.’