When he entered his rooms he found guests waiting him.  A pleasure-loving young ensign, whom he had known at Oxford, and two of the lad’s cronies.  They were a trio of young scapegraces, delighted with any prospect of adventure, and regarding their martial duties chiefly as opportunities to shine in laced coats and cocked hats, and swagger with a warlike air and a military ogle when they passed a pretty woman in the street.  It was the pretty woman these young English soldiers had come to do battle with, and hoped to take captive with flying colours and flourish of trumpets.

They were in the midst of great laughter when Roxholm entered, and young Tantillion, the ensign, sprang up to meet him in the midst of a gay roar.  The lad had been one of his worshippers at the University, and loved him fondly, coming to him with all sorts of confidences, to pour forth his love difficulties, to grumble at his military duties when they interfered with his pleasures, to borrow money from him to pay his gaming debts.

“He has been with my Lord Marlborough,” he cried; “I know he has by his sober countenance!  We are ready to cheer thee up, Roxholm, with the jolliest story.  ’Tis of the new beauty, who is but twelve years old and has set half the world talking.”

“Mistress Clorinda Wildairs of Wildairs Hall in Gloucestershire,” put in Bob Langford, one of the cronies, a black-eyed lad of twenty.  “Perhaps your Lordship has heard of her, since she is so much gossiped of—­Mistress Clorinda Wildairs, who has been brought up half boy by her father and his cronies, and is already the strappingest beauty in England.”

“He is too great a gentleman to have heard of such an ill-mannered young hoyden,” said Tantillion, “but we will tell him.  ’Twas my sister Betty’s letter—­writ from Warwickshire—­set us on,” and he pulled forth a scrawled girlish-looking epistle from his pocket and spread it on the table.  “Shalt hear it, Roxholm?  Bet is a minx, and ’tis plain she is green with jealousy of the other girl—­but ’tis the best joke I have heard for many a day.”

And forthwith Roxholm must sit down and hear the letter read and listen to their comments thereupon, and their shouts of boyish laughter.

Little Lady Betty Tantillion, who was an embryo coquette of thirteen, had been to visit her relations in Warwickshire, and during her stay among them had found the chief topic of conversation a certain mad creature over the borders of Gloucestershire—­a Mistress Clorinda Wildairs, who was the scandal of the county, and plainly the delight of all the tongue-waggers.