"Od so, sir," said he, "'When in Rome'—od's body! 'do as Rome does.' And we are in the country and—ah—being here 'mid rural things simple and sweet I—hem! I say I——"
"Snore, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "and very natural too!"
"And churn, Ben!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd, his delicate nostrils quivering in his sleepy smile, "You churn till you sweat, churn till you blow like any grampus, I understand."
Sir Benjamin took a gulp of wine, choked, coughed, and grew purple.
"Eh? What? Ho!" exclaimed the Captain. "A churn? Ben? Split me! Some pretty dairy-wench? Aha! Ben—confess!"
Pompous, dignified, Sir Benjamin rose and took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation and apparent satisfaction.
"Od, gentlemen," said he, lace handkerchief a-flutter, "since you'd have it, I'll freely—hem! freely confess it. But 'twas no rustic charmer, no village beauty, no dainty wench o' the dairy bewitched me—no, no! Od's my life, sirs, I've been beforehand wi' most of ye—body o' me—yes! For 'twas my joy and felicity to—ah—hem! to labour at the delightful art of—ah—buttermaking 'neath the bright and witching eyes of—our Admirable Betty!"
"O sly, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "O Ben—curst sly, sink me!"
"But—a churn!" said the Captain. "Begad! So fatiguing!"
"I churned, firstly, gentlemen, because 'twas so my lady's will and such is, and ever will be, my law, as the mighty Hercules span for the tender Omphale so did I churn for my lady. I churned, secondly, because the churn is a—hem! a romantic engine—I appeal to Alton!"