“I am almost persuaded that he did,” said Sir Anthony.
“Then I take it we are not to expect his return?” Miss Merriot cocked a knowing eyebrow.
“I hardly think so, madam,” said Sir Anthony placidly.
Miss Merriot looked at Miss Grayson. “Why, child, I like the large gentleman, I protest,” she said. “Pray, sir, have you dined?”
“So far I have not had the time, madam, but I have reason to hope the landlord is preparing dinner for me at this moment.”
Mine host himself came in most opportunely then, with the serving maid behind him, carrying a loaded tray. A fresh cover was laid, a roasted chicken placed before Sir Anthony, and a fresh bottle uncorked.
“You permit, madam?” Sir Anthony bowed towards Miss Merriot.
“Pray, sir, be seated. You will be ravenous.”
“I confess I hate to miss my dinner,” said Sir Anthony, and began to carve the chicken. “There is something of me to maintain, you see,” he added, with a twinkle, and a glance cast down his noble bulk.
Miss Grayson cut in on Miss Merriot’s laugh. “Food!” she ejaculated scornfully, and tapped an impatient foot. Sir Anthony paid no heed. “Well, Tony, you are come nigh on a hundred miles to rescue me, as I suppose, and now have you nothing at all to say but that you have missed your dinner?”