He told Tyrell what there was to tell, both of them looking very unlike a May sunset as they walked under the trees. Since he left Brampton Bryan, Mr. Wogan had not been favoured with any compliments from Lady Oxford. Why did she begin her favours to-day?
'She is stirring,' he said again.
By this time they were got within the Park.
There much was stirring. Carts were streaming in and out with soldiers driving, soldiers lounging among the burdens of planks, tents, picks, and spades. Beside the Walnut Walk soldiers in their shirt sleeves were digging, trenching, measuring; a child could see what was toward--they were meting out a camp.
Mr. Wogan looked at Mr. Tyrell, Mr. Tyrell looked at Mr. Wogan.
'The lady has stirred,' said Tyrell in dismay. 'And what is more she knows of the Blow.'
'Or Mr. Scrotton is not a very honest man,' said Wogan, and whistled "Lilliburlero." He was disposed on the whole to agree with Tyrell. Somehow Lady Oxford had got news of the inner plot; perhaps through this mysterious Mr. Scrotton.
The Walnut Walk was all astir and agape with evening loungers; it hummed with gossip. The two gentlemen went to the Cake House, sat down, and called for glasses of ratafia. Studying the face of Mr. Tyrell, of which his own was no doubt the very likeness, Mr. Wogan inferred that they needed this refreshment.
They listened, with conscious grins of innocence, to the talk at the tables, being a little comforted to hear many questions, but no certain answers. The soldiers, it seems, being asked, could or would give no answer but that they had orders to make a camp. Fair ladies, smiling on private men, could get no other reply. It might be only for practice. It might be that the French were expected. Mr. Wogan heartily wished that they were, but nobody was expected, so far as he knew, save these same ragged regiments of his countrymen with the Duke. And, lo! a welcome was being got ready for them. As for the regiment that had been tampered with in the Tower, they were pitching tents in the Park. The two gentlemen, who had been conversing on faro and Newmarket, and laying each other fantastic odds, arose and walked eastwards.
'I think the air of the waterside would be wholesome,' remarked Mr. Tyrell.