“Will you hold your stupid tongues?” said Aubrey, stung beyond endurance.
“Take a pinch of sneezing tobago,” said one of his companions, holding out his snuff-box. “Never mind it, lad! put on a bold face, and use ruffling language, and you’ll get over this brunt.”
Aubrey flung down his cue and escaped, pursued by his companions’ laughter.
“We were somewhere near the truth,” said the young Earl.
“He looks for a scolding, take my word for it.”
Very like it Aubrey felt, as he went down King Street on the following evening. He, too, met a man, not in blue camlet, but in a porter’s frock, trundling a truck with two or three barrels on it, in whom he did not in the least recognise the dark, tall stranger to whom he had not been introduced in Catesby’s rooms. He received a warm welcome at the White Bear.
“Aubrey, hast thou of late seen thine acquaintance Mr Percy?”
“Not since his return out of the country, Madam.”
He had seen Winter, but he did not think it necessary to mention it.
“Nor Mr Catesby?”