“Stop, stop; not so fast,” he protested. “The fellow has not pledged the King yet. Let him drink the King’s health first and be damned to him.”
The others applauded, but Ingrow, noting a certain sterner tightening of Evander’s mouth, interrupted.
“I’ll wager he will not drink,” he said, looking maliciously from the flushed faces of the Cavaliers to the pale face of the Puritan. Rufus’s temper blazed instantly.
“Will not drink, say you!” he cried. “This mewcant shall pledge at our pleasure or taste our displeasure.”
He strode to the table, filled a cup of wine, and set it down on the corner nearest to Evander.
“Come, you Roundpoll,” he continued—“come, you Geneva mumbler, here is a cup for you to wash down the dust of your dry thoughts. Drink, I give you ‘The King.’”
Evander gazed steadfastly at the irate gentleman and made no motion to take the wine. Brilliana, from where she stood, watching him curiously, wrestled with a reluctant admiration of his carriage. Ingrow commented, smoothly, maliciously:
“You see, the gentleman does not drink.”
Ingrow’s words fanned the Cavalier fire.
“Damn him for a disloyal rat!” Radlett shouted. Halfman elbowed his way past him and addressed Rufus.