He led us accordingly into Druid’s Walk, overarched with elms, and dark as the shades, our gentlemen singing, “‘Ods!  Lovers will contrive,’” in chorus, the ladies exclaiming and drawing together.  Then I felt a soft, restraining hold on my arm, and fell back instinctively, vibrating to the touch.

“Could you not see that I have been trying to get a word with you for ever so long?”

“I trust you to find a way, Dolly, if you but wish,” I replied, admiring her stratagem.

“I am serious to-night.”  Indeed, her voice betrayed as much.  How well I recall those rich and low tones!  “I said I wished you shut up in the Marshalsea, and I meant it.  I have been worrying about you.”

“You make me very happy,” said I; which was no lie.

“Richard, you are every bit as reckless and indifferent of danger as they say your father was.  And I am afraid—­”

“Of what?” I asked quickly.

“You once mentioned a name to me—­”

“Yes?” I was breathing deep.

“I have forgiven you,” she said gently.  “I never meant to have referred to that incident more.  You will understand whom I mean.  You must know that he is a dangerous man, and a treacherous.  Oh!” she exclaimed, “I have been in hourly terror ever since you rode against him in Hyde Park.  There!  I have said it.”

The tense sweetness of that moment none will ever know.

“But you have more reason to fear him than I, Dorothy.”

“Hush!” she whispered, catching her breath; “what are you saying?”

“That he has more cause to fear me than I to dread him.”

She came a little closer.

“You stayed in London for me, Richard.  Why did you?  There was no need,” she exclaimed; “there was no need, do you hear?  Oh, I shall never forgive Comyn for his meddling!  I am sure ’twas he who told you some ridiculous story.  He had no foundation for it.”

“Dorothy,” I demanded, my voice shaking with earnestness, “will you tell me honestly there is no foundation for the report that the duke is intriguing to marry you?”

That question was not answered, and regret came the instant it had left my lips—­regret and conviction both.  Dorothy joined Lady Carlisle before our absence had been noted, and began to banter Fitzpatrick upon his losings.

We were in the lighted Grove again, and sitting down to a supper of Vauxhall fare:  transparent slices of ham (which had been a Vauxhall joke for ages), and chickens and cheese cakes and champagne and claret, and arrack punch.  Mr. Tyers extended the concert in our favour.  Mrs. Weichsell and the beautiful Baddeley trilled sentimental ballads which our ladies chose; and Mr. Vernon, the celebrated tenor, sang Cupid’s Recruiting Sergeant so happily that Storer sent him a bottle of champagne.  After which we amused ourselves with catches until the space between our boxes and the orchestra was filled.  In the midst of this Comyn came quietly in from the other box and took a seat beside me.