“No, I shan’t, because he will be so angry that he will utterly cast me off, and I shall be left upon the world with only this odious little dog and a canary to love!”

“My dear Miss — I mean, my dear Lady Sheringham, I feel certain that your husband would not use you with such undeserved harshness! Do, I entreat you — ”

“Yes, he would!” averred Hero, wiping her eyes with a very damp handkerchief. “Any husband would, after such a scrape as this!”

“Upon my word of honour, I assure you the man who could do so would be the veriest monster!”

Hero instantly took exception to such a term’s being applied to her beloved Sherry, and Mr Tarleton was only rescued from a morass of retractions and attempted explanations by the entrance of the waiter bearing the coffee he had ordered. While the waiter slowly and carefully arranged the cups on the table, he left the door into the adjoining coffee-room ajar. Sounds betokening some fresh arrivals to the inn reached the ears of the couple in the parlour. A voice which made Hero stiffen in her chair said with something less than its usual suavity: “Be so good as to show us to a private parlour, and to send up some refreshment for this lady! There has been an accident to my carriage, and we have been obliged to walk to this place.”

The landlord began to say that his only private room had been bespoken already, but he was interrupted by a fresh voice, glacial with arctic rage, but even better known to Hero. “I shall be glad of a cup of hot coffee — hot, if you please! — but I prefer to drink it here, in your public room; and while I am doing so I shall be obliged to you if you will have horses harnessed to a chaise to convey me instantly to Bath.”

Hero gave a gasp and sat bolt upright in her chair, round-eyed with astonishment. The landlord was heard to explain apologetically that he kept only one chaise, which was out on hire at the moment.

“I do not care what kind of a vehicle I ride in, but a vehicle I must and will have!” announced Miss Milborne. “Whose is the chaise standing in your yard, pray?”

“It is hired by the party in the parlour, ma’am. Indeed, I have nothing to offer but my own gig, and it would not be suitable!”

“I thank you, it will do excellently, if you will be so good as to hire it to this — this gentleman!” said Miss Milborne in bitter accents.

The waiter, having arranged the table to his satisfaction, withdrew at this point and closed the door behind him. To Mr Tarleton’s surprise, Hero rose up from her chair, pushing Pug from her lap as she did so, and tiptoed to the door and tried to peep through the keyhole. She could see very little, so she set her ear to the crack instead and listened with an intent face to what was going on in the coffee-room. When Mr Tarleton would have asked what in the world she was about, she lifted an imperative finger and hissed: “’Sh!”

Apparently the landlord had withdrawn to carry out Miss Milborne’s orders, for Sir Montagu’s voice was clearly heard to say: “Now, my dearest Miss Milborne, let me assure you that you are entirely mistaken! Come, do not let us quarrel! The most unavoidable and unfortunate accident — ”

“If you attempt to lay a finger on me, sir, I shall scream at the top of my lungs!” interrupted Miss Milborne.

“But, my dear ma’am, only listen to me! I should not dream of touching you! But — ”

“No! And no doubt you did not dream of trying to force your most unwelcome caresses upon me, and mauling me in your arms as though I had been the sort of vulgar wretch you are plainly accustomed to dealing with!” retorted Miss Milborne. “No doubt, too, you would have been so obliging as to have unhanded me without the inducement of a pin’s being stuck into you!”

At this Hero’s eyes began to dance, and she gave a smothered choke of laughter.

“If,” Sir Montagu was saying, “if, in the intoxication of finding myself alone in the presence of one for whom I cherish the most passionate devotion, the most — ”

“I beg you will spare me any more of these transports!” said Miss Milborne. “If passionate devotion led you to suggest to me that since we were stranded in so remote a hamlet there was no help for it but for me to become betrothed to you, I can only trust that I may never encounter such devotion again! I do not know by what means you may have contrived the accident to your carriage, but I am no longer in any doubt as to why you were so desirous of driving me back to Bath by another route than the post-road! You sought, sir, to entrap me into marriage with you, since you were aware that you had no hope of winning my hand by more gentlemanly methods. But you were much mistaken in my character if you supposed that I was so weak and foolish a female as to submit to your infamous proposals!”

Hero, who had listened to this speech with a rapt look of concentrated thought on her face, now left the door and ran to Mr Tarleton’s side. “I am saved!” she whispered joyfully. “It is Isabella Milborne, and the most odious man imaginable! I have known Isabella all my life, and I know she will help me out of this tangle! And I dare say she may be very glad to see me, too, because she may drive back with me in the chaise, and she cannot wish to sit perched up in the landlord’s gig, you know. It is not at all the style of thing which would suit her. Do you remain in this room, Mr Tarleton, while I arrange it all!”

“But Lady Sheringham, consider a moment!” he said urgently. “Are you sure — ”

“Yes, yes, and in any event, how could I leave poor Isabella to Sir Montagu’s mercy?”

“From what I have been privileged to hear, I should judge poor Isabella to be very well able to protect her virtue!” said Mr Tarleton dryly.

“Yes, was it not famous to hear her giving him such a set-down? She is a most spirited girl! But it cannot be very comfortable for her, I dare say! Pray hold Pug’s leash, dear sir!”

Mr Tarleton, on whom the events of the evening were beginning to leave their mark, accepted the leash meekly, and, with some misgiving, watched his companion open the door and walk into the coffee-room.

Miss Milborne, who was standing by the fireplace, holding one foot, in a mired half boot of orange-jean, to the glow, turned her head and uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Hero!”

“Yes, it’s me,” said Hero, with a fine disregard for grammar and the sunniest of smiles. “Poor Isabella, how muddied you are, and how odious for you to be in such a fix! Do, pray, come into the parlour! There is not the least need for you to hire the landlord’s gig, for I will escort you back to Bath in my chaise!”

“But how is this?” stammered Miss Milborne, in the greatest bewilderment. “How in the world do you come to be here, and at such an hour? Oh, Hero, what fresh scrape have you fallen into?”

“Well, I must say, Isabella, I think it is the outside of enough for you to be accusing me of being in a scrape, when you are in a much worse one yourself!” said Hero. “I cannot conceive how you come to be driving about the country with Sir Montagu Revesby, for I am sure it is not at all the thing!”

“Sir Montagu and I,” said Miss Milborne, colouring, “have been on an expedition to Wells, in company with some friends of mine!”

“Well, where are they?” asked Hero reasonably. “You must know, Isabella, that I overheard all that has just passed between you and Sir Montagu, and although I quite see that it was not your fault that there was an accident to his carriage, there is no denying that you are in an awkward situation. And you may say what you please, but I am persuaded there is one person whom you would not wish to hear of this! For you are not so heartless as to give him such pain: I know you are not!”

Miss Milborne, who was tired, and cold, and more shaken than she had allowed to appear, felt sudden tears sting her eyelids, and covered her face with her hands, saying in a trembling tone: “Oh, Hero, do not! Pray say no more!”

Hero ran to her at once. “Oh, I am sorry! Do not cry, dearest Isabella! I did not mean to hurt you, indeed, I did not!”

Sir Montagu spoke, in his silkiest voice. “Very affecting, Lady Sheringham! And, pray, where is your husband? Not here, I fancy! In fact, he has not been overmuch in your company of late, I apprehend! You have been a most determined enemy of mine, have you not? I wonder if you will live to regret it? Do you know, I believe that you may? Is it too much to hope that we may be permitted a glimpse of the gentleman who is no doubt concealed in that private parlour?”

“No!” said Mr Tarleton from the doorway. “It is not too much, sir!” And with these words, he landed a useful right on Sir Montagu’s jaw, and sent him crashing to the floor. “Get up, and I will serve you a little more home-brewed!” he promised, standing over Sir Montagu with his fists clenched.

Sir Montagu had had a trying day. He had failed both by fair means and foul to win an heiress’s hand in marriage; he had had a businesslike scarf-pin thrust into the fleshy part of his arm; he had been obliged to tramp three miles down miry lanes beside a lady who maintained a stony silence throughout the trudge, and the yokel whom she had bribed to guide them to the nearest posting-inn; he had been confronted then by the very person to whom he attributed the greater part of his misfortunes; and finally he had been knocked down painfully and ignominiously by a complete stranger who seemed to be only too ready to repeat the performance. Between rage and the natural fright of a man to whom physical violence was at all times horrible, he lost his head. His walking-stick had clattered to the floor, with the chair across which he had laid it, and which he had wildly clutched in his fall. He reached out his hand for it, dragged himself up, fumbling with the carved ivory handle, and, as Mr Tarleton squared up to him purposefully, tore the concealed blade from its innocent-seeming sheath and thrust it at his assailant. Mr Tarleton was just too late to avoid being touched. He saw the thrust coming, and dodged it, so that instead of entering his chest, it tore through the sleeve of his coat and gashed his upper arm. The next instant he had closed with Sir Montagu, twisted the sword-stick from his grasp and floored him again. After that, he stood panting, and instinctively trying to grip his own arm to stop the blood which was flowing copiously, staining his sleeve a horrid colour and dripping on to the floor.