Again the door opened: a lady came out, nor was she followed by the
footman, who crossed his legs at the door-post and allowed her to
mount the jingling vehicle as best she might. Mr. Jerningham had
witnessed the scene in the Park Gardens, had listened to the
altercation through the library keyhole, and had been mighty sulky
at being ordered to call a coach for this young woman. He did not
therefore deign to assist her to mount.

But there was ONE who did! Perkins was by the side of his Lucy: he
had seen her start back and cry, "La, John!"--had felt her squeeze
his arm--had mounted with her into the coach, and then shouted with
a voice of thunder to the coachman, "Caroline Place, Mecklenburgh
Square."

But Mr. Jerningham would have been much more surprised and puzzled
if he had waited one minute longer, and seen this Mr. Perkins, who
had so gallantly escaladed the hackney-coach, step out of it with
the most mortified, miserable, chap-fallen countenance possible.

The fact is, he had found poor Lucy sobbing fit to break her heart,
and instead of consoling her, as he expected, he only seemed to
irritate her further: for she said, "Mr. Perkins--I beg--I insist,
that you leave the carriage." And when Perkins made some movement
(which, not being in the vehicle at the time, we have never been
able to comprehend), she suddenly sprang from the back-seat and
began pulling at a large piece of cord which communicated with the
wrist of the gentleman driving; and, screaming to him at the top of
her voice, bade him immediately stop.