“A well-dressed young man?” adds Radisson, winking at me.

“And carries himself with a grand air,” amplifies my lady, puffing out her chest, “but then, Pierre, when it comes to the point, your pretty wench hath no dower—­no property——­”

“Heaven be praised for that!” burst from my lips.

At which there was a sudden silence, followed by sudden laughter to my confusion.

“And so Master Stanhope came seeking the bird that had flown,” twitted Radisson’s mother-in-law.  “Faugh—­faugh—­to have had the bird in his hand and to let it go!  But—­ta-ta!” she laughed, tapping my arm with her fan, “some one else is here who keeps asking and asking for Master Stanhope.  Boy,” she ordered, “tell thy master’s guest to come down!”

Two seconds later entered little Rebecca of Boston Town.  Blushing pink as apple-blossoms, dressed demurely as of old, with her glances playing a shy hide-and-seek under the downcast lids, she seemed as alien to the artificial grandeur about her as meadow violets to the tawdry splendour of a flower-dyer’s shop.

“Fie, fie, sly ladybird,” called out Sir John’s wife, “here are friends of yours!”

At sight of us, she uttered a little gasp of pleasure.

“So—­so—­so joysome to see Boston folk,” she stammered.

“Fie, fie!” laughed Lady Kirke.  “Doth Boston air bring red so quick to all faces?”

“If they be not painted too deep,” said Pierre Radisson loud and distinct.  And I doubt not the coquettish old dame blushed red, though the depth of paint hid it from our eyes; for she held her tongue long enough for me to lead Rebecca to an alcove window.

Some men are born to jump in sudden-made gaps.  Such an one was Pierre Radisson; for he set himself between his wife and Lady Kirke, where he kept them achattering so fast they had no time to note little Rebecca’s unmasked confusion.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Rebecca!”

She glanced up as if to question me.

“Your fine gallants have so many fine speeches——­”

“Have you been here long?”

“A month.  My father came to see about the furs that Ben Gillam lost in the bay,” explains Rebecca.

“Oh!” said I, vouching no more.

“The ship was sent back,” continues Rebecca, all innocent of the nature of her father’s venture, “and my father hopes that King Charles may get the French to return the value of the furs.”

“Oh!”

There was a little silence.  The other tongues prattled louder.  Rebecca leaned towards me.

“Have you seen her?” she asked.

“Who?”

She gave an impetuous little shake of her head.  “You know,” she said.

“Well?” I asked.

“She hath taken me through all the grand places, Ramsay; through Whitehall and Hampton Court and the Tower!  She hath come to see me every week!”

I said nothing.