"'Tis the country air," explained Marchdale, "in London I'm at my best and brightest at three o'clock in the morning as you very well know, Alton, but here I'm different, 'tis the curst country air, I think."
"And the churn!" said the Marquis, "Betty kept you at it, you and Ben, not to mention the rhubarb wine, I escaped that—eh, Ben?"
"You were nearer the window!" sighed Sir Benjamin, rising.
"What, are you for bed too? Nay, stop at least for a nightcap or so—let's have up another half-dozen o' burgundy!"
"Nay, bed for me," yawned his lordship of Alvaston, "we may be set a-digging or a-ploughing or some such, to-morrow—one never can tell——"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Captain, "would lose a hundred—joyfully, to see Alvaston perform on the hoe, begad!"
So amid much laughter and banter the company arose and in twos and threes sauntered up to their various rooms, all save Mr. Dalroyd who, left alone, sat awhile playing idly with the cards that littered the table. At last he slipped a white hand into the bosom of his coat and taking thence a scrap of soiled and crumpled paper, smoothed it out and perused it thoughtfully, and, as he read, his lips curved and his nostrils quivered; then, re-folding this strange missive he put it away and, ringing the bell, demanded his valet.
In due time came a discreet knock and thereafter a discreet person entered, tall, quick-eyed, low-voiced, soft-stepping, he was a very model of a fashionable gentleman's gentleman though his eyes were perhaps a little too close together and their glance a trifle furtive.
"Joseph," said Mr. Dalroyd, surveying his 'gentleman' with a languid interest yet with eyes that seemed to observe his entire person at one and the same time. "Joseph, this afternoon I gave you leave to ramble abroad, well knowing your passion for country roads and cross-roads." Joseph bowed supple back and smiled deferentially, though his eyes appeared somehow to come a little closer together. "Consequently, Joseph, you rambled, I take it?"
"I did, sir!"