"What—now?"
"Please."
William, laughing, went out of the room, and came back in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned cloak—a remarkable cloak—a dark plaid, its collar lined with red. Formerly worn by gentlemen, they had now become nearly obsolete; but William had picked this up for much less than half its value. He did not care much for fashion, and it was warm and comfortable in winter weather.
"Perhaps you wish me to put on my cap?" said William, in a serio-comic tone.
"Yes; and turn down the ears."
He obeyed, very much amused. "Anything more?" asked he.
"Walk thyself about an instant."
His lips smiling, his eyes dancing, William marched from one side of the room to the other. While this was in process Cyril Dare bustled in, and stood in amazement, staring at William. The Quaker paid no attention to his arrival, except that he took out his watch and glanced at it. He continued to address William.
"And thee can assure me to my face, that thee was not pacing the field last night in the moonlight, dressed as now?"
"I can, and do," replied William.