Mr. Wedderburn gave a short answer and flung himself into the chair by the fire; he was obviously in an ill-humor.
Sir Perseus talked of the plot and the promising prospects of success; he praised Mr. Caryl’s vast labor and skill in the cause of King James, and hinted that the time was not far distant when the devotion of His Majesty’s adherents would be rewarded by seeing him enjoy his own again.
Mr. Wedderburn briefly assented to these remarks and stared moodily into the fire.
Once they were interrupted by the entrance of the printer, who laid down a packet of pamphlets and silently withdrew.
Sir Perseus began sorting them.
“Delia is late,” he remarked. “You may have seen her if you came through the Abbey—she often goes there.”
“Yes, I saw her,” answered Mr. Wedderburn gloomily. “Mr. Caryl, too, is late.”
“Are you pressed for time?” asked Sir Perseus.
The other glanced at the clock.
“The boat is to call for me to-morrow noon,” he said, “and I have to get to Romney—a delay would be impolitic.”