Generally Peregrine was more respectful to Dr. Woodford than to any one else; but there seemed to be a reckless bitterness about him on that night, and he said, “I marvel with what face those same Eight Reverend Seigniors will preach against the French King.”
“Sir,” thrust in Sedley Archfield, “I am not to hear opprobrious epithets applied to the Bishops.”
“What was the opprobrium?” lazily demanded Peregrine, and in spite of his unpopularity, the laugh was with him. Sedley grew more angry.
“You likened them to the French King—”
“The most splendid monarch in Europe,” said Peregrine coolly.
“A Frenchman!” quoth one of the young squires with withering contempt.
“He has that ill fortune, sir,” said Peregrine. “Mayhap he would be sensible of the disadvantage, if he evened himself with some of my reasonable countrymen.”
“Do you mean that for an insult, sir?” exclaimed Sedley Archfield, striding forward.
“As you please,” said Peregrine. “To me it had the sound of compliment.”
“Oh la! they’ll fight,” cried Mrs. Archfield. “Don’t let them! Where’s the Doctor? Where’s Sir Philip?”