“Where is Jack?” he inquired.
“Truly, I know not,” said Lady Enville languidly.
“I bade him arise at four of the clock,” observed Rachel briskly.
“And saw him do it?” asked Sir Thomas, with an amused expression.
“Nay, in very deed,—I had other fish to fry.”
“Then, if Jack be not yet abed, I am no prophet.”
“Thou art no prophet, brother Tom, whether or no,” declared Rachel. “I pray thee of some of that herring.”
While Rachel was being helped to the herring, a slight noise was audible at the door behind, and the next minute, tumbling into his place with a somersault, a boy of eleven suddenly appeared in the hitherto vacant space between Rachel and Lucrece.
“Ah Jack, Jack!” reprimanded Sir Thomas.
“Salt, Sir?” suggested Jack, demurely.