’Twas only after the buxom damsel (having the night previous heard from Grigson that his master was like to die of suspense, and having imparted the same to Her Ladyship), together with the Lady Mother and the Earl, had argued and preached into her the great and chivalrous devotion of Sir Percy, that Peggy at last had brought her mind into a condition of acquiescing in his coming up to her morning-room on the Thursday (being St. James’s Day) after the sixth Sunday after Trinity; which same she carefully marked in her prayer-book with a dab of the crimson her mother sent in to beautify her pale cheeks with, against Sir Percy’s advent.
“Oh, slitterkins! Madam,” cries the Abigail under her breath, “and asking Your Ladyship’s pardon, but how can I do up Your Ladyship’s hair an’ it no longer than the peltry of a meadow-mouse!”
“True enough, Jane Chockey,” replies her mistress, contemplating her countenance in the mirror. “Of a fact, I resemble nothing so much as one of those weazen little vermin; my nose is sharp, too, and my cheeks—”
“Stay, My Lady,” says Chock, taking up the rouge, and putting on layer after layer. “Who’ll say Your Ladyship ain’t handsome now? Lawk, Madam! You look like an angel! What a blessing of Providence the French is with their nostrums!”
“Now, My Lady,” cries Chockey, “would you but borrow your Lady Mother’s worked head, a cup of powder, and Her Ladyship’s pink feathers atop of it! What a sight would you be for Sir Percy to behold!”
Peggy shakes her head. The three feet of wire, wool, pommade, frizz and plumage the hand-maiden suggests, even causes her to laugh aloud as she figures it above her own face.
“Nay, Chock, none o’ that!” says she, “I’ll do as I am. Sir Percy has seen my cropped head; faith, he ’twas, you tell me, that fetched the tail of my locks to Kennaston in his saddle-pocket, or tied upon him somewhere?”
“Aye, My Lady, Mr. Grigson says never, since Adam and Eve began courtin’ under the fig-tree, has any young nobleman been seen in such a frenzy as Sir Percy about Your Ladyship. Lawk, Lady Peggy! When a young gentleman goes off his feed, ceases swearin’ and cursin’ his man, and stops down in the country nigh three months in the season, a-readin’ loud to his deaf aunt, there ain’t no sort of doubt as to the quality of his passion!”