The tone of Halfman’s speech, the way of Halfman’s demeanor were so offensive that the knight’s cheap dignity took fire. He swelled with displeasure, flushed very red in the gills, and cleared his throat for reproof.
“Master Majordomo, you forget yourself.”
Halfman proved too indifferent or too self-absorbed to take umbrage. He stared into the garden again with a sigh.
“No, I remember myself, and the memory vexes me. I dreamed I was a king, a kaiser, a demigod. I wake, rub my eyes, and am no more than a fool.”
Sir Blaise was patronizingly forgiving. He was thirsty, also the morning was chilly.
“Let us exorcise your devil with a pottle of hot ale,” he suggested. Halfman shook his head wistfully.
“I should be happier in a sable habit, with a steeple hat, and a rank in the Parliament army.”
It was plain to Sir Blaise that a man must be very deep in the dumps who was not to be tempted by hot ale.
“Lordamercy, are you for changing sides now?” he asked.