"Bravo!" shouted Charles.
Clare looked up in surprize. Charles was seldom willing to play the game of light love. Could that chatter of Blewforth's have gone deeper than he thought? There was a strange excitement about him—an excitement that was aroused by something stronger than the civick wine. Was he in love? Mr. Anthony Clare was puzzled.
"You must know, gentlemen," said Mr. Lovely, "that this maiden aunt is of a very singular complexion. 'Tis usual, as we are all aware, to look to maiden aunts for legacies and presents, but this lady, as I know by the state of Tony's purse, gets more than she gives."
"Fie! Charles," protested his friend, "I vow your point of view deteriorates." What could be the matter with him?
"Well, gentlemen," he continued, "since you are so set on meeting my relatives, egad! you shall. We'll ride over to Baverstock to-night; there are dances in Baverstock Barn, and the maids—maiden-aunts will all be there. You'll come Charles?"
"Not another word. I'll lead the love-chase or, shall we say, the legacy hunt."
"And you, sir?" Clare continued with a bow to Vernon.
After a moment's hesitation due, no doubt, to bashfulness, the latter assented, and in a trice the whole party went whooping and holloaing in the direction of the Blue Boar.
And all this time, Phyllida was counting the kisses in her teacup while she watched Miss Sukey Morton search energetically for strangers.