"A propitious happening, sir," returned Farrell. "I have not begun the circulation of the author's name. Is it the proper time, think you?"

"Not yet, my dear Terence. Half an hour from now will be quite soon enough. Egad, these verses sting, or I 'm no judge of satire. When the Prince does finally set eyes upon them there will be an outburst. A flood of anger will result on which the writer of this masterpiece will be borne away to oblivion."

"Moore is high in favor now."

"The higher the elevation the greater the fall, Terence."

Farrell nodded.

"Our visit to his garret was a fortunate one. But for what we found there I fear Tom's position in royal favor would be too firm for even you, Sir Percival, to successfully a.s.sail. May I ask the programme you have planned in regard to Bessie?"

"It differs very little from the scheme we discussed a fortnight ago.

Already the bailiffs are on post both at the front and rear, waiting patiently to seize the person of Mr. d.y.k.e unless otherwise directed by my humble self, which will only result from the girl's compliance or the payment of the thousand her father owes me. I antic.i.p.ate with their aid finding little difficulty in persuading Mistress Bessie to go through the marriage ceremony to-night. Once this is accomplished I'll take her on the Continent for a glimpse of Europe."

"You will marry her?" said Farrell in surprise.

"Not really, you fool," laughed his patron. "Foreseeing such a compromise as marriage, I have provided a clergyman of my own manufacture. Jack Hathaway has kindly consented to a.s.sume the role for a liberal consideration."

"That devil's bird," muttered Farrell.

"Aye, no angel child is Jack, but a gentler rogue might not care to risk liberty to oblige a friend who had found a difficult damsel."

"And where is this gallant rascal?"

"He, with the proper ecclesiastical caparisons ready at hand, is waiting for my coming round the corner a little way. You see how confident I am that to-night I will have my will."

"You think she will suspect nothing?"

"I rely on Jack's appearance to silence any vague doubts that may haunt her gentle bosom. Jack can look most reverent. Aye, and act it, too, if he be not in his cups."

"You are a remarkable man, Sir Percival."

"At all events industrious," returned the baronet, rising and putting the paper in his pocket. "Come, Farrell, our absence may be remarked.

Your arm."

Then, as these two very worthy gentlemen strolled leisurely away, a little old man in a powdered wig all awry in its set upon his clever old head, staggered out from behind the portieres screening the window recess, and, balancing himself uncertainly as he stood, groaned aloud at the impotence of his intoxicated brain.

The little gentleman was Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan; the reason for his sudden impatience with drunkenness being that he had heard every word of the conversation between Sir Percival and his creature, and now found his wine-drenched intellect unequal to planning the proper course for him to follow to checkmate the benevolent intentions of his host.

_Chapter Nineteen_

_MR. SHERIDAN, MR. BRUMMELL, AND MR. MOORE HOLD COUNCIL OF WAR_

His Royal Highness did not at first succeed in locating the lady who enjoyed so much of his favor and admiration at this time. Mrs.

FitzHerbert took possession of Moore when a servant informed Farrell of Sir Percival's wish to see him, and, laughing mischievously, kept on the move from one room to another, resolved that Wales should make at least a fairly determined effort before he obtained the pleasure of her company. Finding a secluded corner behind some palms in the conservatory, she proceeded to catechise Moore in regard to his affair with Bessie d.y.k.e, at the same time keeping a sharp look-out for the approach of the Regent.

"I 'll vow you were at Old Drury to-night, Mr. Moore," said she.

"Do you think that shows marvellous perception on your part?" demanded the poet, lightly.

"What do you think of actresses?"

"I don't think of them, Mrs. FitzHerbert."

"Not of Bessie?"

"Never as an actress."

"Yet she is one, and clever too,"

"If I had my way she 'd never walk the boards after to-night."

"But you have n't your way, Mr. Moore."

"Worse luck!"

"Oh, perhaps it is fortunate for Mistress Bessie that you do not direct her destinies."

"I think no man enjoys seeing a woman he cares for upon the stage."

"Fie, Mr. Moore. A man should be proud of the admiration accorded her if she be successful."

"There is no place half so fitting for a woman as her husband's home.

No profession for her one hundredth part so appropriate, so complete in happiness and content as the care of her children."

"You are very old fashioned, Mr. Moore."

"True love is always old fashioned. It is one thing that has never changed an iota since the first man was given the first woman to worship."

"Oh, dear," sighed Mrs. FitzHerbert, "you have the morals badly this evening. Mr. Brummell, I fear your friend Tom is contemplating priesthood."

"Religion is an excellent thing to ponder on," said the Beau, drawing near. "It is so completely non-exciting that much thought may be expended, thus furnishing extensive intellectual exercise without causing the nervous mental activity so completely demoralizing to placid natures."

"Perhaps he means something by that procession of words, Mrs.

FitzHerbert," said Moore, doubtfully. "We must not judge entirely by appearances."

"It is not impossible, I presume," replied Mrs. FitzHerbert, apparently possessed of serious misgivings upon the subject.

"Because the prattle of certain people is entirely devoid of either sense or sentiment, it is not to be concluded that the conversation of every one else is at so completely a low ebb of mentality," remarked the Beau, sententiously. "Oh, Tommy, Tommy, why will you tie your cravat in that horrible, horrible fashion?"

"It's like this, Brummell. I 'm tired of following your styles, so at present seek to set one of my own."

"Then I 'll quell your insubordination without further delay," returned the Beau, laying skilful hands on Moore's tie. "A touch to the left, a twist to the right, a pucker here, and a graceful fall of lace thus, Thomas, and you are a credit to Ireland."

"Thanky," said Moore. "If I look half as fine as you do, George, I 'll need some one to see me home. The ladies will never allow me to escape unkissed."