The cocking of ears and queries of Sir Lukin put him to the test of his right to the remark; for it sounded of occult acquaintance with interesting subterranean facts; and there was a communication, in brief syllables and the dot language, crudely masculine.  Immensely surprised, Sir Lukin exclaimed:  ’Of course! when fellows live quietly and are careful of themselves.  Ah! you may think you know a man for years, and you don’t:  you don’t know more than an inch or two of him.  Why, of course, Tom Redworth would be uxorious—­the very man!  And tell us what has become of the Firefly now?  One never sees her.  Didn’t complain?’

‘Very much the contrary.’

Both gentlemen were grave, believing their knowledge in the subterranean world of a wealthy city to give them a positive cognizance of female humanity; and the substance of Colonel Launay’s communication had its impressiveness for them.

‘Well, it’s a turn right-about-face for me,’ said Sir Lukin.  ’What a world we live in!  I fancy I’ve hit on the woman he means to marry;—­had an idea of another woman once; but he’s one of your friendly fellows with women.  That’s how it was I took him for a fish.  Great mistake, I admit.  But Tom Redworth ’s a man of morals after all; and when those men do break loose for a plunge—­ha!  Have you ever boxed with him?  Well, he keeps himself in training, I can tell you.’

Sir Lukin’s round of visits drew him at night to Lady Singleby’s, where he sighted the identical young lady of his thoughts, Miss Paynham, temporarily a guest of the house; and he talked to her of Redworth, and had the satisfaction to spy a blush, a rageing blush:  which avowal presented her to his view as an exceedingly good-looking girl; so that he began mentally to praise Redworth for a manly superiority to small trifles and the world’s tattle.

‘You saw him to-day,’ he said.

She answered:  ‘Yes.  He goes down to Copsley tomorrow.’

‘I think not,’ said Sir Lukin.’

‘I have it from him.’  She closed her eyelids in speaking.

‘He and I have some rather serious business in town.’

‘Serious?’

‘Don’t be alarmed:  not concerning him.’

‘Whom, then?  You have told me so much—­I have a right to know.’

‘Not an atom of danger, I assure you?’

‘It concerns Mrs. Warwick!’ said she.

Sir Lukin thought the guess extraordinary.  He preserved an impenetrable air.  But he had spoken enough to set that giddy head spinning.

Nowhere during the night was Mrs. Fryar-Gannett visible.  Earlier than usual, she was riding next day in the Row, alone for perhaps two minutes, and Sir Lukin passed her, formally saluting.  He could not help the look behind him, she sat so bewitchingly on horseback!  He looked, and behold, her riding-whip was raised erect from the elbow.  It was his horse that wheeled; compulsorily he was borne at a short canter to her side.