Came triumphantly over to his own!
Porter sat down amid ringing applause from all save Caryl, who remarked dryly:
“Surely it should not have been in the past tense, your grace, since these wonders remain yet to be performed.”
Berwick slipped back into his chair.
“La, ain’t you glum, Caryl! Wait till Saturday—”
The word was echoed round the table:
“Saturday! Let us drink to Saturday!”
Berwick filled his glass with no very steady hand.
“You drink,” he said to Caryl, “to the sticking of the rotten Orange—to Saturday, Turnham Green—”
Jerome Caryl looked round the flushed, excited faces; there was not one there completely master of his wits, not one cool head among them; the only one who sat collected and quiet was Lady Breadalbane.