“Is that all, gentlemen?” asked Jellyband, as he returned with a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, which he placed on the table.
“That’ll do nicely, thanks, Jelly!” said Lord Tony.
“Good-night, my lord! Good-night, sir!”
“Good-night, Jelly!”
The two young men listened, whilst the heavy tread of Mr. Jellyband was heard echoing along the passage and staircase. Presently even that sound died out, and the whole of “The Fisherman’s Rest” seemed wrapt in sleep, save the two young men drinking in silence beside the hearth.
For a while no sound was heard, even in the coffee-room, save the ticking of the old grandfather’s clock and the crackling of the burning wood.
“All right again this time, Ffoulkes?” asked Lord Antony at last.
Sir Andrew had been dreaming evidently, gazing into the fire, and seeing therein, no doubt, a pretty, piquant face, with large brown eyes and a wealth of dark curls round a childish forehead.
“Yes!” he said, still musing, “all right!”
“No hitch?”