“No, Howard; I want you to spare her.”
“Very well, then. You must sail this night. Sail directly you get on board.”
“Thank you, Howard. I will. You won’t get into trouble with the Board over this?”
“I shall say that you crept away in the night. No singing at the capstan, remember. No cheering. If you’re not gone by dawn I’ll arrest the whole pack of you. I can’t do more.”
“I’m very—— This is very kind of you, Howard.”
“Kind? A kind man has no business in politics. I’m shirking my duty.”
“Yes,” said Margaret, with a sigh. “And I’m pleading with you, trying to make you shirk it.”
“Not a bit of it,” said the Governor. “There’s the gong. We’ll go down to dinner. By the way, there’s a letter for you. Where did I put it? Here it is.” He handed a sealed packet to Margaret, who glanced abstractly at the seal, and then, not recognizing the crest, put it in his pocket, and followed his host to the door. “Honour,” he repeated to himself. “Honour. My honour is a smirched rag. A smirched rag.”
The dining-room was a long, low, bare apartment. The whitewashed walls were hung with one or two prints by Dürer, the “Adam and Eve,” the “Justice,” and “The Man of Sorrows,” from the “Lesser Passion.” The table was heaped with a deal of silver, all of it very crudely designed. The dinner was mostly of fruit and vegetables; it was too hot for meat. The wine bottles lay outside the window in jackets of wetted flannel. Each guest had a palm fan at his side, for use between the courses.
The Governor sat at the end of the table with the door at his back. Olivia sat next to him, with Margaret beside her. Mrs. Prinsep sat next to Margaret, with Stukeley on her right, then Perrin, then an empty seat directly at the Governor’s left. During the dinner Howard asked the footman if Captain Lewin had arrived. The man told him, no.