‘Set him up,’ quoth the heir of the Douglas, with a snort. ‘His own degree, indeed! scarce even a knight’s son!’
‘What he deems his own degree, then,’ corrected Sir Patrick; ‘but he holds himself full of chivalry to them, and loves a spice of the errant knight; ye may trust his honour. And mind ye,’ he added, laughing, ‘I’ve never been told your name and quality.’
Which the Master of Angus returned with an equally canny laugh. The young man, as he approached the Marquis, drew his head up, straightened his tall form, brushed off the dust that obscured the bloody heart on his breast, and altogether advanced with a step and bearing far more like the great Earl’s son than the man-at-arms of the Glenuskie following; his eyes bespoke equality or more as they met those of William de la Pole, and yet there was that in the glance which forbade the idea of insolence, so that Suffolk, instead of remaining seated rose to meet him and took him aside, standing as they talked.
‘Sir Squire,’ he said, ‘for such I understand your degree in chivalry to be.’
‘I have not won my spurs,’ said George.
‘It is not our rule to take to foreign courts gentlemen from another realm unknown to us,’ proceeded Suffolk, with much civility; ‘therefore, unless any vow of chivalry binds you, I should be glad to know who it is who does my banner the honour of riding in its company for a time. If a secret, it is safe with me.’
George gave his name.
‘That is the name of one of the chief nobles in Scotland,’ said Suffolk. ‘Do I see before me his son?’ George bowed.
‘Then, my Lord Douglas, am I permitted to ask wherefore this mean disguise? Is it for some vow of chivalry, or for that which is the guerdon of chivalry?’ the Marquis added in a lower, softer tone, which, however, extremely chafed the proud young Scot, all the more that he felt himself blushing.
‘My Lord,’ he said, ‘I am not bound to render a reason to any save my father, from whom I hope for letters shortly.’