“You’ll take some, Sir Henry?” he said sulkily.
“With pleasure,” was the reply; and Sir Henry allowed himself to be helped, Hilary’s carving being of a very primitive kind, but he managed to hack off a leg and a wing, and passed them to Sir Henry, who, in return, cut some bread, and poured out a glass of wine.
The chicken came fully up to its looks, and those who discussed it were very busy for some little time.
“There is only one glass,” said Sir Henry. “Will you drink first, Hilary?”
“No, Sir Henry. After you.”
“But I stand in the place of your host,” said Sir Henry smiling. “However, I will set you the example after the good old custom, so as to show you that the wine is not drugged.”
“His majesty King Charles of England!” said Sir Henry, drinking a hearty draught before wiping his lips on a French cambric handkerchief. Then he refilled the glass and passed it to Hilary.
“His majesty King George the Second of England,” said Hilary taking the glass, “and down with the Pretender!”
He said this defiantly, as he gazed full in Sir Henry’s eyes; but the latter only smiled.
“You foolish boy,” he said lightly; “how little you know what you are saying.”