After satisfying his hunger over a fine joint of roast beef in company with a grave looking lawyer, who sat opposite him at the same table, with a roll of parchments and papers by his side, the man of law proposed a cup of canary to the health of Masters Prynne and Burton, in which he was readily seconded by Cuthbert.
“Ah,” said the stranger bitterly, “this is a different kind of procession to the fool’s mummery which they made us play seven years ago, before the wanton queen and her dancing French gentlemen.”
“What! you mean the mask of the inns of court, on Candlemas-day, seven years ago?” asked Cuthbert.
“Just so: that was got up to tickle the court party, and trample down Prynne and his book; but tables are turning.”
“Well, though I think they were very tyrannical about Prynne, I did not like his book; and never saw any harm in a mask or an interlude.”
“Why, to judge by your looks, you could only have been a boy when that mask was given, and perhaps you did not see it.”
“That is true; but I read the account of it that was printed, and surely it was a brave and glorious show; and, methinks, there were some witty hints given his Majesty in the anti-masks, which he might be the wiser for.”
“The man Charles Stuart,” said the stranger, “will never be the better for hints.”
It was the first time that Cuthbert had ever heard from any lips so irreverent a mention of the King, and he coloured and was silent.