"Odds my life, Charlie, you've been drinking. What's it mean? Where's your tutor?"
Carroll laughed joyously. "Shooting plover in the west marsh with father. I've a holiday, and M. de Mailly is making it with me."
Rockwell frowned rather ill-humoredly, as though a preachment lay upon his tongue, and Sir Charles was about to speak again, when from below came the trampling of horses' hoofs and a little chorus of voices, while Carroll cried from the window: "Vincent Trevor, William Paca, and Carleton Jennings! They've stopped here."
"Ah—they'll be up presently. Rockwell, will you risk another tankard? They'll have apple-brandy and Madeira. Vincent scorns rum."
The rector shrugged, vouchsafing no active consent, and after a moment or two the three young gentlemen clattered into the room. There was a chorus of greeting, and Trevor introduced young Paca to Claude, who had not seen him before. Jennings flung himself into a chair, flicking the dust from his coat-sleeves with a riding-crop. Paca sat upon the long table; and Vincent, after drawing off his gloves and flinging them, with his hat and whip, upon a chair, went to the door and called lustily for a decanter of Madeira with glasses.
"I ordered a sangaree when we were down," observed Jennings to Paca. "Trevor's thirst is aristocratic, but too small."
"And we'll all drink with you both," put in Fairfield, with sociable impudence, while Rockwell smiled approval.
"And now for the affair in hand," pursued Jennings, when the party were seated. "We've a race in prospect, Fairfield, that will take four months' pay to back."
"Eh! What's that? I back the winning side, of course."
Trevor laughed. "Nay, then, Charlie, will you desert me?"