s and did not disdain him. He went to tailors and
mercers and wig-makers and furnished himself forth with fine
belongings, and looked a town gentleman indeed when he came to exhibit
himself to my lady; and before long the Mall and the park became
familiar with his sturdy old figure and beaming country face, and the
beauties and beaux and wits began to know him, and that he had been one
of Mistress Clorinda Wildairs's companions in her Gloucestershire days,
and had now come to town, drawn simply by his worship of her, that he
might delight himself by looking on at her triumphs.

There were many who honestly liked his countrified, talkative good
nature, and inviting him to their houses made a favourite of him; and
there were others who encouraged him, to hear him tell his stories; and
several modish beauties amused themselves by coquetting with him, one
of these being my Lady Betty Tantillion, who would tease and ogle him
until he was ready to lose his wits in his elderly delight. One of her
favourite tricks was to pout at him and twit him on his adoration of my
Lady Dunstanwolde, of whom she was in truth not too fond; though she
had learned to keep a civil tongue in her head, since her ladyship was
a match for half a dozen such as she, and, when she chose to use her
cutting wit, proved an antagonist as greatly to be feared as in the
days when Lady Maddon, the fair and frail "Willow Wand," had fallen
into hysteric fits in the country mercer's shop.

"You men always lose your wits when you see her," she would say. "'Tis
said Sir John Oxon"--with a malicious little glance at that gentleman,
who stood near her ladyship across the room--"'tis said Sir John Oxon
lost more, and broke a fine match, and squandered his fortune, and sank
into the evilest reputation--all for love of her."

She turned to his Grace of Osmonde, who was near, waving her fan
languishing. "Has your Grace heard that story?" she asked. His Grace
approached smiling--he never could converse with this young lady
without smiling a little--she so bore out all the promise of her
school-girl letters and reminded him of the night when he had found her
brother, Ensign Tom, and Bob Langley grinning and shouting over her
homilies on the Gloucestershire beauty.

"Which one is it?" he said. "Your ladyship has been kind enough to tell
me so many."

"'Tis the one about Sir John Oxon and her ladyship of Dunstanwolde,"
she answered, with a pretty simper. "All Glouceste