The Duke was quite unable to resist the pleading looks of his protégés, and very weakly agreed to let them visit the Fair while he pursued a strict search for Maggie Street. He enjoined Tom to take care of Belinda, and not to fail to return to the Sun in time for dinner at five o’clock; and allowed them to go.

The rest of the day was spent, as far as he was concerned, in a singularly profitless fashion. He was quite unable to discover any trace of Maggie Street; and when he returned to the inn to dine, he was obliged to hire a room there for Belinda, alleging as the reason that the friends to whom he had said he was escorting her were all too full of measles to admit her into the house. After that it soon became apparent to him that if he wished to see his young friends at the dinner-table he would have to plunge into the hurly-burly of the Fair to find them. He was feeling rather too tired to be amused by the noise and the fun there, and was forced to admit to himself that amongst the advantages of rank must be reckoned an immunity from being jostled by merrymakers who all seemed to be very much too hot, and by far too friendly. He found Belinda watching a blindfold-wheelbarrow-race, in which Tom was taking part for the guerdon of a whalebone whip. She was sucking a large lollipop, and closely attended by two rustic swains, who seemed to be acting as porters, since they carried a motley collection of ribbons, oranges, sweetmeats, and toys, which they made haste to deliver up to her as soon as the Duke joined the party. Belinda thanked them sweetly, and informed the Duke that she was enjoying herself very much, her only disappointment having been the disagreeable behaviour of Tom, who had offered to draw the cork of a kind gentleman who would have taken her into one of the booths to witness a theatrical performance.

“Belinda,” said Gilly patiently, “you must not—indeed you must not!—go off with strange men just because they promise you silk dresses, or some such thing!”

“He didn’t,” replied Belinda, opening her eyes wide. “It was to see a play.”

“Yes, that is what I mean.”

“Oh!” said Belinda, thoughtfully licking her lollipop.

The Duke could not feel that he had made much impression on her, but as her attention had become fixed on the closing stage of the race it was plainly of no use to persevere. She did not seem to bear Tom any ill-will, for as soon as it was apparent that he would win the blindfold race she dropped all her fairings to clap her hands in delight. He soon came over to them, brandishing the whip, and with his face smeared with the treacle which had coated a number of buns hung on strings for which competitors had been expected to bob. He said that it was the jolliest day of his life, and that he would come back to the inn as soon as he had collected his various purchases and prizes,

“And we may come back to see the fireworks, may we not?” he begged.”

“Yes, yes, and the dancing!” cried Belinda, clasping her hands ecstatically.

With two pairs of imploring eyes fixed on him, the Duke found himself quite unable to say no, much as he would have liked to. He had seen many firework displays, and had not the smallest desire to see this one. He was tired from walking about the town in the search for Mrs. Street; and he disliked crowds. He realized, with a slight feeling of shame, that between himself and Mr. Dash of Nowhere in Particular there were several points of difference. He told himself that he was by far too nice in his tastes, and did his best to respond to Tom’s suggestion with becoming enthusiasm. Tom then darted away to retrieve his prizes, and the Duke drew Belinda’s hand through his arm, and led her out of the Fairground, towards the inn. Neither of them noticed the unobtrusive figure of Mr. Shifnal; and this sapient gentleman took care never to place himself in the line of Belinda’s vision.

Upon reaching the Sun Inn, they found that the usual bustle attendant upon a private chaise’s arrival was in full swing. An elegant chaise-and-four had pulled up to change horses, and the fresh team was just being led out of the stable. Belinda, fondly clasping the Duke’s arm with both hands, gazed wistfully at this equipage, and said that she wished she might travel in a chaise-and-four, clad in a silk gown, and with a ring upon her finger. The Duke could not help laughing a little at what appeared to be the sum of her ambitions, but there was such a sad note in her voice that he was impelled to pat one of the little hands on his arm. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he was uninterested in the post-chaise, and did not so much as glance at its occupants, so that he failed to observe the strange effect the sight of himself had upon them. They were two ladies, one a stout dowager, the other a smart young woman, with crimped curls, and a high complexion, who no sooner clapped eyes on the Duke than she gave a gasp, and exclaimed: “Mama! Sale! Look!”

The dowager began to deliver a reproof to her daughter on the hoydenish nature of her behaviour in bouncing up in her seat, but the words died on her lips as she brought her hawk-like gaze to bear upon the Duke and his fair companion.: “Well!” she ejaculated, her pale eyes showing an alarming tendency to start from their sockets.

The Duke and Belinda passed into the inn. “Well!” said Lady Boscastle again. “I would not have credited it! Not two days after that notice in the Gazette!”

Miss Boscastle giggled. “Poor dear Harriet! I wonder if she knows of this? Did ever you see such a lovely creature, Mama? Poor dear Harriet.”

“One can only trust,” said Lady Boscastle obscurely, “that it will be a lesson to Augusta Ampleforth, with her odious pretensions. I always said, and I always shall say that Sale was entrapped into it, for I am sure no man would look twice at Harriet, for she is nothing out of the ordinary; indeed, a squab little figure of a girl, and with far too much reserve in her manner. What a shocking thing it would be if Sale were to declare off now!”

Both ladies dwelled beatifically for some moments on this thought. Miss Boscastle said inconsequently: “Well, we shall be seeing Harriet in Bath, Mama, for she is gone to stay with old Lady Ampleforth, you know.”

By this time the change of horses had been effected, and the chaise was on the move again, before Lady Boscastle had time to prosecute any enquiries at the Sun Inn. She resettled herself in the corner of the chaise, remarking that she hoped Harriet would not be found to be putting on airs to be interesting, and that Augusta Ampleforth would be all the better for a sharp set-down.

Meanwhile, the Duke and Belinda had mounted the stairs to his private parlour, and Belinda had cast off her bonnet, and run her fingers through her luxuriant ringlets, saying, with a grateful look at her protector: “I am so very glad you took me away from Mr. Liversedge, sir! I wish you was my guardian! I am so happy!”

He was too much touched to point out to her the slight inaccuracy contained in this speech. “My poor child, I wish indeed that you had some guardian to take care of you! Or that I could find your friend, Mrs. Street. But I have enquired at the receiving-office, and at upwards of twenty shops, and no one can give me the least intelligence of her. In fact, the only Street living in Hitchin is an old man, who is stone deaf, and knows nothing of your Maggie! Can you not—”

He was interrupted. Belinda broke into a peal of merry laughter. “Oh, but she is not Mrs. Street!” she told him. “How came you to think she was, dear sir? She was Maggie Street when she worked at Mrs. Buttermere’s establishment, but then, you know, she was married!”

For one horrifying moment, the Duke recognized in himself an affinity with Mr. Liversedge, who had boxed Belinda’s ears. Then the absurdity of it most forcibly struck him, and he began to laugh. Belinda regarded him in faint surprise, and Tom, entering the room at that moment, instantly demanded to be told what the jest might be.

The Duke shook his head. “Nothing! Tom, if you would please me, go and wash your face!”

“I was just about to do so,” said Tom, with great dignity, and even greater mendacity. “By Jupiter, I never wanted my dinner more! I am quite gutfoundered!”

On this elegant expression, he vanished, leaving the Duke to ask Belinda, in a failing voice, if she knew what her friend’s surname might now be. He was by this time sufficiently well acquainted with Belinda to feel no surprise at her reply.

“Oh, no! I daresay she may have told me, but I did not attend particularly, you know, for why should I?”

“Then what,” demanded Gilly, “are we to do?”

He had no very real expectation of receiving an answer to this question, but Belinda,—assuming an expression of profound thought, suddenly said: “Well, do you know, sir, I think I would as lief marry Mr. Mudgley after all?”

The introduction into his life of this entirely new character slightly staggered the Duke. He said: “Who, Belinda, is Mr. Mudgley?

Belinda’s eyes grew soft with memory. “He is a very kind gentleman,” she sighed.

“I am sure he is,”agreed the Duke. “Did he promise you a purple silk gown?”

“No,” said Belinda mournfully, “but he took me to see his farm, and his mother, driving me in his own gig! And he said he was wishful to marry me, only Uncle Swithin told me I should go away with him, and be a real lady, and so of course I went.”

“Of course,” said the Duke. “Did you know Mr. Mudgley when you lived in Bath?”

“Oh, yes! And he has the prettiest house, and his mother was kind to me, and now I am sorry that I went with Uncle Swithin, for Mr. Ware didn’t marry me, and he didn’t give me a great deal of money either. I was quite taken in!”