“As I do not know, Lady Catharine,” replied Mary Connynge.  “To the contrary, ’twould not surprise me to learn that he would not shrink from any adventure which might offer.”

“You mean—­that is—­you mean the tall one, him who said he was Mr. Law of Lauriston?”

“Well, perhaps.  Though I must say,” replied Mary Connynge, with indirection, “that I fancy the other far more, he being not so forward, nor so full of pure conceit.  I like not a man so confident.”  This with an eye cast down, as much as though there were present in the room some man subject to her coquetry.

“Why, I had not found him offering such an air,” replied Lady Catharine, judicially.  “I had but thought him frank enough, and truly most courteous.”

“Why, truly,” replied Mary Connynge.  “But saw you naught in his eye?”

“Why, but that it was blue, or gray,” replied Lady Catharine.

“Oh, ho! then my lady did look a bit, after all!  And so this is why the knight flourisheth so bravely in silks to-day—­Fie! but a mere adventurer, Lady Kitty.  He says he is Law of Lauriston; but what proof doth he offer?  And did he find such proof, it is proof of what?  For my part, I did never hear of Lauriston nor its owner.”

“Ah, but that I have, to the contrary,” said Lady Catharine.  “John Law’s father was a goldsmith, and it was he who bought the properties of Lauriston and Randleston.  And so far from John Law being ill-born, why, his mother was Jean Campbell, kinswoman of the Campbell, Duke of Argyll; and a mighty important man is the Duke of Argyll these days, I may tell you, as the king’s army hath discovered before this.  You see, I have not talked with my brother about these things for naught.”

“So you make excuse for this Mr. Law of Lauriston,” said Mary Connynge.  “Well, I like better a knight who comes on his own horse, or in his own chariot, and who rescues me when I am in trouble, rather than asks me to give him aid.  But, as to that, what matter?  We set those highway travelers down, and there was an end of it.  We shall never see either of them again.”

“Of course not,” said Lady Catharine.

“It were impossible.”

“Oh, quite impossible!”

Both the young women sighed, and both looked out of the window.

“Because,” said Mary Connynge, “they are but strangers.  That talk of having letters may be but deceit.  They themselves may be coiners.  I have heard it said that coiners are monstrous bold.”

“To be sure, he mentioned Sir Arthur Pembroke,” ventured Lady Catharine.

“Oh!  And be sure Sir Arthur Pembroke will take pains enough that no tall young man, who offers roses to ladies on first acquaintance, shall ever have opportunity to present himself to Lady Catharine Knollys.  Nay, nay!  There will be no introduction from that source, of that be sure.  Sir Arthur is jealous as a wolf of thee already, Lady Kitty.  See!  He hath followed thee about like a dog for three years.  And after all, why not reward him, Lady Kitty?  Indeed, but the other day thou wert upon the very point of giving him his answer, for thou saidst to me that he sure had the prettiest eyes of any man in London.  Pray, are Sir Arthur’s eyes blue, or gray—­or what?  And can you match his eyes among the color of your flosses?”