a longer
head. He grew livid as he perceived how neatly he had been snared in his
own trap.

"Done!" he cried loudly; "done, gentlemen. It only remains to hit upon
time and place for the contest. I go to York to-morrow, to be back
this day fortnight. And if you will do me the favour of arranging
with Baltimore for the horse, I shall be obliged. I believe he intends
selling it to Astley, the showman."

"And are we to keep it?" asks Mr. Fox.

"I am dealing with men of honour," says the duke, with a bow: "I need
have no better assurance that the horse will not be ridden in the
interval."

"'Od so!" said Comyn, when we were out; "very handsome of him. But I
would not say as much for his Grace."

And Mr. Fox declared that the duke was no coward, but all other epithets
known might be called him. "A very diverting evening, Richard," said he;
"let's to your apartments and have a bowl, and talk it over."

And thither we went.

I did not sleep much that night, but 'twas of Dolly I thought rather
than of Chartersea. I was abroad early, and over to inquire in Arlington
Street, where I found she had passed a good night. And I sent Banks
a-hooting for some violets to send her, for I knew she loved that
flower.

Between ten and eleven Mr. Fox and Comyn and I set out for Baltimore
House. When you go to London, my dears, you will find a vast difference
in the neighbourhood of Bloomsbury from what it was that May morning
in 1770. Great Russell Street was all a sweet fragrance of gardens,
mingling with the smell of the fields from the open country to the
north. We drove past red Montagu House with its stone facings and dome,
like a French hotel, and the cluster of buildings at its great gate. It
had been then for over a decade the British Museum. The ground behind
it was a great resort for Londoners of that day. Many a sad affair was
fought there, but on that morning we saw a merry party on their way to
play prisoner's base.

Then we came to the gardens in front of Bedford House, which are now
Bloomsbury Square. For my part I preferred this latter mansion to the
French creation by its side, and admired its long and graceful lines.
Its windows commanded a sweep from Holborn on the south to Highgate on
the north. To the east of it, along Southampton Row, a few great houses
had gone up or were building; and at the far end of that was Baltimore
house, overlooking her Grace of Bedford's gardens. Beyond Lamb's Conduit
Fields stret