Dignity and our Prince were unknown to each other, and there were some who saw the wink which passed between him and his brother of York.
But the Duke was not thinking of plots or traps in the presence of the First Gentleman of Europe. He was delighted with his reception and the banquet which followed.
An honoured guest indeed! As his age and station demanded.
Jockey of Norfolk smiled, bowing over his glass at the ring of familiar faces, whilst George, grinning, winked again at his portly brother.
So many friends! and all of one mind. Drink must each one with His Grace. He did not refuse, though, from under bushy brows, the still piercing eyes looked round, noting the snigger on this face and the scoff on that.
It was a conspiracy then.
Honour was to be dishonour for the Howard. Yet he did not refuse the challenges, his reputation with the bottle being almost as great as his standing.
Many a less seasoned head lay low round that merry table. Last toasts had been drunk here and there along the line, but Jockey of Norfolk sat erect, his lips smiling, his face stern.
Bumpers of brandy were suggested at last by that gallant Florizel, that First Gentleman himself,—bumpers of brandy to seal a plot as degrading as it was contemptible. York, with unsteady hand, filled a great glass with the spirits and gave it to his brother's guest.
The Duke stood up, and, raising the goblet, tossed off the contents at a draught.