“Oh! Lud love you, they are all right, my lord,” retorted Jellyband; “don’t you be afraid. I wouldn’t have spoken, only I knew we were among friends. That gentleman over there is as true and loyal a subject of King George as you are yourself, my lord, saving your presence. He is but lately arrived in Dover, and is settling down in business in these parts.”
“In business? Faith, then, it must be as an undertaker, for I vow I never beheld a more rueful countenance.”
“Nay, my lord, I believe that the gentleman is a widower, which no doubt would account for the melancholy of his bearing—but he is a friend, nevertheless, I’ll vouch for that—and you will own, my lord, that who should judge of a face better than the landlord of a popular inn—”
“Oh, that’s all right, then, if we are among friends,” said Lord Antony, who evidently did not care to discuss the subject with his host. “But, tell me, you have no one else staying here, have you?”
“No one, my lord, and no one coming, either, leastways—”
“Leastways?”
“No one your lordship would object to, I know.”
“Who is it?”
“Well, my lord, Sir Percy Blakeney and his lady will be here presently, but they ain’t a-goin’ to stay—”
“Lady Blakeney?” queried Lord Antony, in some astonishment.