“I do not think it,” Judith said decidedly. “Perry is young, but he knows his own mind, and once that is made up there is generally no changing it. I believe the attachment to be deep; it is certainly mutual. And, you know, however much I may regret an engagement entered into so soon I could not wish to see it broken.”

He assented. “It would be very bad. We can only wish him happy. I am not acquainted with Miss Fairford. You like her?”

“She is a very amiable, good sort of girl,” responded Judith.

“I am glad. The wedding, I conclude, will not be long put off?”

“I am not perfectly sure. Lord Worth spoke of six months, but Perry hopes to be able to induce him to consent to its taking place sooner. I don’t know how he will succeed.”

“I imagine Lord Worth will be more likely to find the means of postponing it.”

She turned an inquiring look upon him. He shook his head. “We shall see, but I own myself a little worried. I don’t understand Worth’s consenting to this marriage. But it is possible that I misjudge him.”

The barouche drew up outside the haberdasher’s, and Mrs. Scattergood coming out of the shop directly Judith could not pursue the subject further. Her cousin stepped down to help Mrs. Scattergood into the carriage. He declined getting in again; he had business to transact in the neighborhood; they left him on the pavement, and drove slowly on down the street. Coming opposite to Jackson’s again some little press of traffic obliged the coachman to pull his horses in to a standstill, and before they could move on two gentlemen came out of the Saloon, and stood for a moment on the pavement immediately beside the barouche. One was the Earl of Worth; the other Colonel Armstrong, a close friend of the Duke of York, with whom Miss Taverner was only slightly acquainted. Both gentlemen bowed to her; Colonel Armstrong walked away up the street, and Worth stepped forward to the barouche.

“Well, my ward?” he said. “How do you do, cousin?”

“Do you go our way?” inquired Mrs. Scattergood. “May we take you up?”

“To the bottom of the street, if you will,” he answered, getting into the carriage.

Miss Taverner was gazing at a milliner’s window on the opposite side of the road, apparently rapt in admiration of a yellow satin bonnet embossed with orange leopard-spots, and bound with a green figured ribbon, but at Mrs. Scattergood’s next words she turned her head and unwillingly paid attention to what was being said.

“I am excessively glad to have fallen in with you, Julian,” Mrs. Scattergood declared. “I have been wanting to ask you these three days what you were about to let Perry tie himself up in this fashion. Not that I have a word to say against Miss Fairford: I am sure she is perfectly amiable, a delightful girl! But you know he might do much better for himself. How came you to be giving your consent so readily?”

He said lazily: “I must have been in an uncommonly good temper, I suppose. Don’t you like the match?”

“It is respectable, but not brilliant, and I must say, Worth, I think Perry much too young.”

He made no reply. Miss Taverner raised her eyes to his face. “Do you think it wise to let him be married?” she asked.

“I think he is not married yet, Miss Taverner,” replied Worth.

The carriage began to move forward. Judith said: “Now that it has been so publicly announced it must be a settled thing.”

“Oh, by no means,” said Worth. “A dozen things might happen to prevent it.”

“He cannot in honour turn back from an engagement.”

“True, but I might turn him back from it if I thought it proper to do so,” said the Earl.

“If you do not like the engagement why did you permit him to enter into it?” asked Miss Taverner rather sternly.

“Because I had not the smallest desire to see him persuade Miss Fairford into a runaway match,” replied Worth.

She frowned. “I am to understand that you don’t wish to see him married?”

“Not at all. Why should I?” He turned to address the coachman, desiring to be set down at the corner. The carriage turned into Piccadilly, and stopped. He got out, and stood for a moment with his hand on the door. His face softened as he looked at Miss Taverner, but he only said: “Believe me, I have your affairs well in hand. Where do you go from here? Shall I direct your coachman?”

“Oh, we are going to look at the new bridge across the river,” said Mrs. Scattergood. “But he knows. Well, I am glad we met you, and I have no doubt there is a great deal in what you say. You are off to White’s, I suppose? I am sure I do not know what you gentlemen would do if there were no clubs to spend the day in!”

He returned no answer to this observation, but merely bowed and stepped back.

“Well, my love,” said Mrs. Scattergood as the carriage moved on, “you may say what you will, but excepting only Mr. Brummell, there is no one in town who dresses so well as Worth! Such an air of fashion! I believe you may see your face in his boots as well as in your mirror.”

“I have never denied Lord Worth’s ability to be in the mode,” replied Miss Taverner indifferently. “The only thing that surprises me is to see him come out of a boxing saloon.”

“Oh, my dear, I daresay he went only to accompany Colonel Armstrong,” said Mrs. Scattergood excusingly.

“More than likely,” agreed Judith, with a contemptuous smile.

Peregrine, who had entered the saloon as Worth was on the point of leaving, had also been surprised. That his lordship had been indulging in sparring exercise was evident, for he was just coming out of the changing-room, and had paused in the doorway to exchange a few words with Mr. Jackson. He caught sight of Peregrine at the other end of the Saloon, nodded to him, and said: “How does that ward of mine shape, Jackson?”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder. “Sir Peregrine Taverner, my lord? Well, he shows game; always ready to take the lead, you know, but sometimes rather glaringly abroad. Good bottom, but not enough science. Do you care to see him in a round or two?”

“God forbid!” said Worth. “I can well imagine it. Tell me, Jackson, could you lay your hand on a promising young heavyweight who would be glad to earn a little money out of the way—not in the Ring?”

Jackson looked at him rather curiously. “Cribb knows most of the young’uns, my lord. Lads thankful to be fighting for a purse of five guineas—is that it?” Worth nodded. “Any number of them to be found,” Jackson said. “You know that, my lord. But do you stand in need of one?”

“It has just occurred to me that I might,” said the Earl, negligently playing with his gloves. “I’ll see Cribb.” He turned as Colonel Armstrong came out of the changing-room. “Are you ready, Armstrong?”

“I suppose I am,” replied the Colonel, who was looking very hot. “I’ll swear you’ve sweated pounds off me, Jackson. I don’t know how you both contrive to look so cool.”

The ex-champion smiled. “His lordship was taking it very easily today.”

“What, fighting shy?” said the Colonel, with a twinkle.

“No, not shy; just trifling,” said Jackson. “But you should be coming to me more regularly, Colonel. It was bellows to mend with you after three minutes of it, and I don’t like those plunges of yours.”

“Trying to land you a facer, Jackson,” grinned the Colonel.

“You won’t do it like that, sir,” said Jackson, shaking his head. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll go over and set Mr. Fitzjohn to a little singlestick with one of my young men.”

“Oh ay, we’re just off,” said Armstrong. “Are you coming, Worth?”

“Yes, I’m coming,” answered the Earl. He looked at Jackson. “Do what you can with my ward. And, Jackson, by the way—on that other matter, I feel sure I can rely on your discretion.”

“You can always be sure of that, my lord.”

The Earl nodded, and went out with his friend. Mr. Jackson turned his attention to the new-comers, matched Mr. Fitzjohn at singlestick with one of his instructors, and stood critically by while Peregrine, stripped to the waist, hit out at a punchball. He presently took the eager young man on in a sparring match, gave Mr. Fitzjohn a turn, and dismissed them both to cool off.

“Oh, damn it, why can’t I pop in a good one over your guard?” panted Mr. Fitzjohn. “I try hard enough!”

“You don’t try quick enough, Mr. Fitzjohn. You want to look to. your footwork more. I shan’t let you hit me till you deserve to.”

“What about me?” asked Peregrine, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.

“You’re shaping, sir, but you must keep your head more. You rattle in too hard. Go along to the Fives Court next Tuesday for the sparring exhibition, and you’ll see some very pretty boxing there.”

“I can’t,” said Peregrine, draping a towel round his shoulders. “I’m going to the Cock-Pit. The Gentlemen of Yorkshire against the Gentlemen of Kent, for a thousand guineas a side, and forty guineas each battle. You should come, Jackson. I’m fighting a Wednesbury grey—never been beaten!”

“Give me a red pyle!” said Mr. Fitzjohn, “I don’t fancy any of your greys, or blues, or blacks. Red’s the only colour for your true game-cock.”

“Why, good God, Fitz, that’s the greatest piece of nonsense ever I heard? There’s nothing to touch a Wednesbury grey!”

“Except a red pyle,” said Mr. Fitzjohn obstinately.

“There are good cocks of all colours,” interposed Jackson. “I hope yours wins his fight, Sir Peregrine. I’d come, but I’ve promised to help Mr. Jones with the arrangements at the Fives Court.”

The two young men went off to the changing-room together, and forgot their difference of opinion in splashing water over themselves, and being rubbed down by the attendant. But as Peregrine put on his shirt again he recollected the argument sufficiently to invite Mr. Fitzjohn to come to the Cock-Pit Royal on Tuesday and see the match. Mr. Fitzjohn agreed to it very readily, and was only sorry that from the circumstances of his being Sussex-born he could not enter his own red pyle for a battle with Peregrine’s grey. “What’s his weight?” he asked, “Mine turns the scale of four pounds exactly.”