A group of timbril-girls, singing shrilly the songs of the day,
called boldly to him as he passed; and one of them, more free and
easy than the rest, danced up to him striking her timbrel, and
shouting rather than singing the chorus of the then popular ditty
"What care I for pest or plague?
We can die but once, God wot,
Kiss me darling - stay with me:
Love me - love me, leave me not!"
The darling in question turned his bright blue eyes on that
dashing street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.
"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm
afraid I must. How long have you been here, may I ask?"
"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley
been, may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."
"Not exactly. Have you seen - ah! there he is. The very man I
want."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the
girl's extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's
Walk. A tall, dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms,
looking fixedly at the ground, and taking no notice of the busy
scene around him until Sir Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled
hand lightly on his shoulder.
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