“Who is this fellow?” Mr. Aylwinne demanded, as he bowed himself out to fetch the wine.
“Do you not remember him? And yet his is a face not easily forgotten,” Florence replied; and, seeing that he still looked puzzled, she added: “He is the ci-devant servant of Lieutenant Mason.”
Mr. Aylwinne hissed an oath between his clenched teeth.
“Could I bring you nowhere but to his house? I will go and hasten the harnessing of the horses that we may get away as quickly as possible.”
He hurried from the room as he spoke, almost upsetting the landlord in his hurry as he entered with a tray.
“The gentleman as took my master’s chambers in the Albany, I believe? Your husband, miss? Excuse me!”
Florence, annoyed at this impertinence, turned to the window without replying; but, nothing daunted, he went on:
“I hope, miss, I may say without offense that I’m glad my foolish little whispered words didn’t do you no harm, and that you bears no malice, for I’m a different man to what I was in those times. I’m married, miss, to that excellent creetur you see. A little temperish she is, but we’ve all our faults, though I’ve repented mine, and hope I can say I’m a reformed character, thanks to a saving grace!”
Florence scarcely heard the end of this hypocritical harangue. The expression he had made use of in the beginning had greatly astonished her; and though she revolted at holding any converse with such a fellow, she could not refrain from asking his meaning.
“To whom did you whisper anything concerning me? To Mr. Aylwinne? And what was it?”