"What care I for pest or plague?
We can die but once, God wot,
Kiss me darling--stay with me:
Love me--love me, leave me not!"
The darling in question turned his bright blue eyes on that dashing
street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.
"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm afraid I
must. How long have you been here, may I ask?"
"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley been, may
I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."
"Not exactly. Have you seen--ah! there he is. The very man I want."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the girl's
extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's Walk. A tall,
dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms, looking fixedly at
the ground, and taking no notice of the busy scene around him until Sir
Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Ormiston. I had an idea I would find you here, and--but
what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the plague? or has your
mysterious inamorata jilted you? or what other annoyance has happened to
make you look as woebegone as old King Lear, sent adrift by his tender
daughters to take care of himself?"
The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and rather
handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy discontent. He slightly
raised his hat as he saw who his questioner was.
"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your coming, and
was about to quit this confounded babel--this tumultuous den of thieves.
What has detained you?"
"I was on duty at Whitehall. Are we not in time to keep our
appointment?"
"Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours, day and
night. I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep means."
"And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare swear! I
have no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking when I came up.
Nothing else could ever have made you look so dismally woebegone as you
did, when Providence sent me to your relief."
"I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a
darkening brow.
Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous stare for a
moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to purchase some cigarettes;
lit one, and after smoking for a few minutes, pleasantly remarked, as if
the fact had just struck him: "Ormiston, you're a fool!"