“A peruke, Bob? Oh, begad! If we have it still, show it to me!”
The imperturbable Robert vanished into Sir John’s bedchamber and instantly returned with the article in question, turning it upon his hand for his master’s inspection.
“A brown Ramillie!” mused Sir John. “No, Bob, I don’t seem to know it—it calls up no memory of its erstwhile owner. What sword did I wear that night?”
“Your favourite dress sword, sir, with the gold hilt.”
“Fetch it, Bob.” The weapon was duly brought and, unsheathing it, Sir John eyed it keenly from pierced shell to glittering point. “Ha!” sighed he, returning blade and scabbard. “What has not been, will be, I fear! A gentleman’s hat out of a window and a gentleman’s peruke in my pocket would seem to indicate a meeting soon or late with some one or other!”
“With Viscount Templemore, sir, as I am give to understand.... Young gentleman has been taking of fencing lessons constant ever since,” answered Robert imperturbably.
“Templemore!” exclaimed Sir Hector. “Viscount Templemore, is it? Man Jack, ye no can fecht wi’ him, he’s but a lad—a child—a bairn in breeks!”
“And but lately from England, eh, Bob?” questioned Sir John.
“He has been here scarce a week, sir, I am give to understand.”
“Mark that, Hector!”