A striking scene, Dame Gossip says; but raises a wind over the clipped adventure, and is for recounting what London believed about it.  Enough has been conceded for the stoppage of her intrusion; she is left in the likeness of a full-charged pistol capless to the clapping trigger.

That which London believed, or affected to believe about it, would fill chapters.  There was during many months an impression of Lord Fleetwood’s countess as of a tenacious, dread, prevailing young woman, both intrepid and astute, who had, by an exercise of various arts, legitimate in open war of husband and wife, gathered the pick of the Principality to storm and carry another of her husband’s houses.  The certification that her cavaliers were Welsh gentlemen of wealth and position required a broader sneer at the Welsh than was warranted by later and more intimate acquaintance, if it could be made to redound to her discredit.  So, therefore, added to the national liking for a plucky woman, she gained the respect for power.  Whitechapel was round her like London’s one street’s length extension of smoky haze, reminder of the morning’s fog under novel sunbeams.

Simultaneously, strange to say, her connubial antagonist, far from being overshadowed, grew to be proportionately respected, and on the strength of his deserts, apart from his title and his wealth.  He defended himself, as he was bound to do, by welcoming the picked Welsh squires with hospitable embrace, providing ceremonies, receptions, and most comfortable arrangements for them, along the route.  But in thus gravely entering into the knightly burlesque of the procession, and assisting to swell the same, he not only drew the venom from it, he stood forth as England’s deputed representative, equal to her invasive challengeing guests at all points, comic, tragic, or cordial.  He saw that it had to be treated as a national affair; and he parried the imputation which would have injured his country’s name for courtly breeding, had they been ill-received, while he rescued his own good name from derision by joining the extravagance.

He was well inspired.  It was popularly felt to be the supreme of clever-nay, noble-fencing.  Really noble, though the cleverness was conspicuous.  A defensive stroke, protecting him against his fair one’s violent charge of horse, warded off an implied attack upon Old England, in Old England’s best-humoured easy manner.

Supposing the earl to have acted otherwise, his countess would virtually have ridden over him, and wild Wales have cast a shadow on the chivalry of magisterial England.  He and his country stood to meet the issue together the moment the Countess of Fleetwood and her escort crossed the Welsh border; when it became a question between the hot-hearted, at their impetuous gallop, and the sedatively minded, in an unfortified camp of arm-chairs.  The earl’s adroitness, averting a collision fatal or discomforting to both, disengaged him from an incumbent odium, of which, it need hardly be stated, neither the lady nor her attendant cavaliers had any notion at the hour of the assembly for the start for England on the bridge of Pont-y-pridd.  The hungry mother had the safety of her babe in thought.  The hotheaded Welshmen were sworn to guard their heroine.