"GRAMMERCY!" quoth the Baron D'AGINCOURT, as he rolled off his bicycle
into a potato-bed; "'tis a full-mettled steed! Methinks those varlets
have fed him with overmuch oil of late, so restive is he become. And,
lack-a-day! My doublet is besmirched with mire! Thou smilest, I see,
AGATHA. There is but scant reason for merriment, shameless girl!"
"Nay," replied the beauteous Lady AGATHA, as with exquisite skill she
rode her dainty steed (a thorough-bred Coventry) up and down the
terrace, "'twas not at thy mishap, dear father! Of a truth thou must be
sorely bruised. Was not that thy seventh fall this afternoon? If I
smile, 'tis but that I am happy."
"Humph!" said the Baron, as he hopped painfully behind his machine,
vainly endeavouring to mount anew. "Happy, eh? And wherefore? Whom hast
thou seen to change thy mood so greatly since this morning? 'Twas but a
few hours ago that thou wast weeping over some trifle of a spilt
oil-can. Ah, I am up at last!"
"I have seen none," said the lovely maiden, with blushing cheeks; "at
least, save only----" She hesitated, doubtfully.
"Whom, girl?" insisted her father.
"Sir ALGERNON FITZCLARENCE."
With a desperate swerve, the Baron rode towards her, his face purple
with passion.
"What, thou hast chosen to disobey me again? Talking with him whom I had
forbidden to come within twenty leagues of my castle! Now, by St.
Humber, both thou and he shall rue this day! I say that----"
The Baron's skill failed him once more, and he was shot off into the
gooseberry-bushes.
"Nay, hear me, dear father----"
"Cease!" roared the angry Baron. "What ho, there! Lead the Lady AGATHA,"
he commanded, as twenty men rushed forwards in answer to his summons,
"into the upper dungeon. And, varlets, bring me the sticking-plaster."