I explained how we had met him at Brooks’s, and had gone to his house.

“You went to his house?” she repeated, raising her eyebrows a trifle; “and Comyn and Mr. Fox?  And pray, how did this pretty subject come up?”

I related, very badly, I fear, Fox’s story of young Wrottlesey and the tea-merchant’s daughter.  And what does my lady do but get up and turn her back, arranging some pinks in the window.  I could have sworn she was laughing, had I not known better.

“Well?”

“Well, that was a reference to a little pleasantry Mr. Fox had put up on him some time before.  His Grace flared, but tried not to show it.  He said he had heard I could do something with a horse (I believe he made it up), and Comyn gave oath that I could; and then he offered to bet Comyn that I could not ride this Pollux, who had killed his groom.  That made me angry, and I told the duke I was no jockey to be put up to decide wagers, and that he must make his offers to me.”

“La!” said Dolly, “you fell in head over heels.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” said she, biting her lip.  “Come, you are as ponderous as Dr. Johnson.”

“Then Mr. Fox proposed that his Grace should ride after me.”

Here Dolly laughed in her handkerchief.

“I’ll be bound,” said she.

“Then the duke went to York,” I continued hurriedly; and when he came back we met him at the Star and Garter.  He insisted that the match should come off in Hyde Park.  I should have preferred the open roads north of Bedford House.”

“Where there is no Serpentine,” she interrupted, with the faintest suspicion of a twinkle about her eyes.  “On, sir, on!  You are as reluctant as our pump at Wilmot House in the dry season.  I see you were not killed, as you richly deserved.  Let us have the rest of your tale.”

“There is very little more to it, save that I contrived to master the beast, and his Grace—­”

“—­Was disgraced.  A vastly fine achievement, surely.  But where are you to stop?  You will be shaming the King next by outwalking him.  Pray, how did the duke appear as he was going into the Serpentine?”

“You have heard?” I exclaimed, the trick she had played me dawning upon me.

“Upon my word, Richard, you are more of a simpleton than I thought you.  Have you not seen your newspaper this morning?”

I explained how it was that I had not.  She took up the Chronicle.

“’This Mr. Carvel has made no inconsiderable noise since his arrival in town, and yesterday crowned his performances by defeating publicly a noble duke at a riding match in Hyde Park, before half the quality of the kingdom.  His Lordship of March and Ruglen acted as umpire.’  There, sir, was I not right to beg Sir John Fielding to put you in safe keeping until your grandfather can send for you?”

I made to seize the paper, but she held it from me.