She was the less inclined to admit their attentions, and shielded herself with a grave coldness of stately manners; but their talk was far more free than at noon, suggesting the thought that they had anticipated the meal with some of the Nantz or other liquors that seemed to be in plenty.
They began by low bows of affected reverence, coarser and worse in the ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented Pilpignon on being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his time in spite of the airs of his duchess. It was his own fault if he were not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, were buffeting with the winds, which had come on more violently than ever. Peregrine broke in with a question about the vessels in sight.
There was an East Indiaman, Dutch it was supposed, laying-to, that was the cause of much excitement. “If she drives ashore our fellows will neither be to have nor to hold,” said Sir George.
“They will obey me,” said Peregrine quietly.
“More than the sea will just yet,” laughed the captain. “However, as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, I’ll be off across the Island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss of the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth there will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. Never mind, madam, we’ll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of the water it is. I should recommend the voyage first for my part.”
All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could, apparently ignoring the man’s meaning. She did not know how dignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. When presently Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to the bride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the glass to her lips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, “May the brides be happy, wherever they may be.”
“Coy, upon my soul,” laughed Sir George. “You have not made the best of your opportunities, Pil.” But with an oath, “It becomes her well.”
“A truce with fooling, Barclay,” muttered Peregrine.
“Come, come, remember faint heart—no lowering your crest, more than enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of the neck!”
“Sir,” said Anne rising, “Monsieur de Pilpignon is an old neighbour, and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest. I wish you a good-night, gentlemen. Guennik, venez ici, je vous prie.”