"Yes, sir."
The waiter vanished.
"I must bid you good-by now, Mr. Rockharrt," said the duke, rising.
"No; you must not. Sit down. Sit down. You must lunch with me, and drink a parting glass of wine. Then you will have plenty of time to secure your train, and I to drive to Rockhold at my usual hour. Say no more, duke. Keep your seat."
Cumbervale looked at the iron-gray man before him, thought certainly this must be their last meeting and parting on earth, and that therefore he would not cross the patriarch in his humor.
"You are very kind. Thank you. I will break a parting bottle of wine with you willingly."
In double-quick time the broiled partridges were served, the wine placed, and all was ready for the two men.
"Go and tell Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence that I wish them to come here. You will find them somewhere in the house," said Mr. Rockharrt.
"Beg pardon, sir; both gentlemen have gone over to the works," replied the waiter.
This was true. Both "boys" had gorged themselves with cold ham, bread and cheese, washed down with quarts of brown stout, and were in no appetite to enjoy partridge and Johannisberg, even if they had been found in the hotel.