“Dutchmen! What Dutchmen?”
“Oh, never mind, innocence,” said Andrew, with a half laugh. “Just think of how handsome the gentlemen of the Stuart time looked in their doublets, buff boots, long natural hair, and lace. This fashion is disgusting. Here’s old Granthill coming now,” he continued, as the trampling of horses made him glance back. “Don’t turn round; don’t see him.”
“Very well,” said Frank with a laugh; “but whoever he is, I don’t suppose he’ll mind whether I bow or not.”
“Whoever he is!” cried Andrew contemptuously. “I say, don’t you know that he is one of the King’s Ministers?”
“No,” said Frank thoughtfully. “Oh yes, I do; I remember now. Of course. But I’ve never thought about these things. He’s the gentleman, isn’t he, that they say is unpopular?”
“Well, you are partly right. He is unpopular; but I don’t look upon him as a gentleman. Hark! hear that?” he shouted excitedly, as he looked eagerly toward where the first carriage had passed round the curve ahead of him on its way toward Westminster.
“Yes, there’s something to see. I know; it must be the soldiers. Come along; I want to see them.”
“No, it isn’t the soldiers; it’s the people cheering Lord Ronald on his way to the Parliament House. They like him. Every one does. He knows my father, and yours too. He knows me. Didn’t you see him smile? I’ll introduce you to him first time there’s a levee.”
“No, I say, don’t,” said Frank, flushing. “He’d laugh at me.”
“So do I now. But this won’t do, Frank; you mustn’t be so modest.”