“We’re no’ needed,” he said, with an uneasy smile at the Viscount, and a motion toward the Master and Breadalbane. Viscount Stair lifted his shoulders.
“’Tis certainly as wearisome as a Parliament sitting,” he answered as he rose. “John, you must arrange the details of this charming little affair with my Lord Breadalbane, who seems to be in sympathy with you—we’re even tired of it.”
The Master flashed the angry glance his father’s mockery never failed to evoke; but the Viscount laughed as he preceded Argyll from the room.
“My cousin and your son are of a mind,” remarked Argyll.
“In some things,” smiled the Viscount. They passed through the heavy carved doors into an adjoining room.
“I must be taking my leave,” pursued Argyll weakly, and seemingly now, when alone with the Viscount, even more ill at ease. “I am due at Kensington—” he paused, then reached a sudden resolution—“My lord,” he said, “think you your son will get the King’s sanction for this—this—”
“Affair—” finished the Viscount dryly. “Well, I think my son can do a great deal with the King. They are somewhat alike, only, unfortunately, John lacks the steady purpose, that settled calm, that has brought His Majesty so far. When the keynote to a man’s character is recklessness, his success may be brilliant, it will hardly be lasting. My son is absolutely reckless—you marked his allusion just now to this plot he hoped to discover?”
The Viscount twisted his wry neck with a keen look at Argyll, who stammered his reply as if it had been frightened out of him.
“I—heard, my lord—he mentioned—”
“’Twas most injudicious,” interrupted the Viscount smoothly. “A little more and he would have mentioned names—he might even have mentioned yours, my lord.”