However, even as the Great Lady spoke, honest George, most conscientious of husbands, and notwithstanding his rank in the Middleshire Yeomanry, the most peace-loving of men, was understood to make an offer of active service.
"Well done, George," said his friend the Vicar. "I shouldn't mind coming as the chaplain to the force myself."
"George," said an imperious voice from the table head, "George!"
The Man of Destiny halted a moment on the threshold of the banquet hall with the frank eye of cynicism fixed midway between the Great Lady and the warlike George.
"George! Sit down!"
Finally George sat down with a covert glance at his friend the Vicar.
By the time we had got into our overcoats and mufflers and the means of travel had been provided for us, a scene with some pretensions to pathos had been enacted in the hall.
"Odo, you really ought not, but if dear Sonia really is in danger——!"
"We shall all be back a week to-night," the Man of Destiny informed my somewhat tearful monitor with a note of assurance in his voice.
Moving objurgations of "Freddie! Freddie!" were mingled with the clarion note of Mrs. Catesby's indignation.