“By riding five miles further I shall reach it.”
“A visit to some country acquaintance, where you can enjoy the balmy atmosphere of the beech forests—have new-laid eggs every morning for breakfast, and new-pulled turnips along with your bacon for dinner, eh?”
The choler of the high-bred youth had been gradually mounting upward, and might soon have found vent in angry words. But Walter Wade was one of those happy spirits who enjoy a joke—even at their own expense—and, perceiving that his new acquaintances meant no further mischief, than the indulgence in a little idle badinage, he repressed his incipient spleen; and replied in the same jocular and satirical strain.
After a sharp passage of words—in which the young courtier was far from being worsted—he was on the point of riding onward; when the captain of the cuirassiers again proffered the hospitality of the inn—by inviting him to partake of a cup of burnt sack, which the landlord had just brought forth from the house.
The offer was made with an air of studied politeness; and Walter, not caring to appear churlish, accepted it.
He was about raising the goblet to his lips, when his entertainers called for a toast.
“What would you?” asked the young courtier.
“Anything, my gallant! Whatever is uppermost in your mind. Your mistress, I presume?”
“Of course,” chimed in the cornet. “His mistress, of course.”
“My mistress, then!” said Walter, tasting the wine, and returning the cup to the hand from which he had received it.