"Just as well, my friend, you've taken to your heels. I've nothing to
lose and you'd have nothing to gain, save may be a sword thrust."
Congratulating himself on his escape from what might have been an ugly
encounter, Vane plodded back to Grub Street. He lingered in front of a
Cripples' Gate tavern where he knew he should find some of his friends,
but he thought of Lavinia's words and he resisted temptation. That night
he did that which with him was a rarity--he went to bed sober.
He had forgotten the cloaked man whom he had taken for an ordinary
footpad. The fellow must have altered his mind if his intention was to
follow Vane. No sooner was the latter past the passage than he darted
back into St. Paul's Churchyard and hastened westward. He overtook
Lavinia just as she was turning into the Old Bailey and cautiously
followed her.
CHAPTER XVI
"THEY'RE TO MEET AT ROSAMOND'S POND"
A masquerade was in full swing at a mansion in Leicester Square. The air
of the ball-room was hot and stuffy. Ventilation was a thing of little
account. The light, albeit there were a hundred candles or so in the
sconces, on the panelled walls, and in the chandelier hanging from the
decorated ceiling, and despite the assiduous snuffing by the servants,
was dim. The subdued illumination was not without its advantage. It was
merciful to the painted faces and softened the crudity of their raw
colouring.
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