I looked up quickly at the words. We were approaching the steps in a body when the door of the inn suddenly opened and a man came hastily out.
He was dressed in riding costume, and as he halted in surprise at sight of us, I saw that it was the young baronet, my lady’s cousin.
“Permit me, colonel,” I said, stepping forward, “to bring to your acquaintance Sir Rupert Courtenay, of Clevedon Hall.”
“Courtenay?” said the colonel, frowning. “I knew a Courtenay years ago in Flanders.”
“My father fell at Teneffe,” the young baronet replied with visible impatience.
“What?” cried the other heartily. “You are the son of Richard Courtenay—‘Fighting Dick’ we called him—my old comrade in arms? The most rampant Papist and prince of good fellows that ever drew sword from scabbard. Aye, aye! I can trace the likeness now. But ’tis no place for discussion, this. You will join us within.”
“Your pardon,” stammered the young man, who, I could not help seeing, was considerably embarrassed at his words, “but—there is an appointment——”
“With a woman, I’ll warrant,” the colonel said quickly; then noticing the flush upon the other’s face: “Tchut! women will keep. And I will even hold you my prisoner for the time and so preserve you from temptation. Nay, I will take no denial, sir,” he continued peremptorily. “You shall share the honours of our table, and we will crack a bottle to your father’s memory.”
Accordingly the whole party followed them to the inn parlour, whither the landlord was speedily summoned to attend their wants. But as for me, in the confusion caused by our arrival I passed unnoticed from the room and left the inn.