"What's this comedy of yours, Mr. Hadley?" says Harry.
"Your friends have warrants to arrest your father and Mr. Waverton for treasonable correspondence with the Pretender. But none for you, I fear, Mr. Boyce."
"Devil a one," the man laughed. "Come, Ned, we'll be jogging," Out they swung.
A bewildered company, full of suspicions, stared at one another.
"Come, Harry, let us go home," Alison said.
"Home!" Lady Waverton gasped with an hysterical laugh. "Hear her!"
"My lady"—Alison made her a curtsy—"gentlemen—all the friends of Mr.
Boyce will be very welcome to me."
Sir John swore. "You for a fool and he for a knave, damme, you're well matched."
"When you were younger, sir, I suppose you were less of a boor," says Harry. "Mr. Hadley—my lady—" he made two stiff bows and gave his arm to Alison.
"Humph, they go off with the honours." Mr. Hadley shrugged, and held out his arm in front of Sir John, who was plunging after them.