“Thank’ee; now I’ll bid you good-night. You may depend upon it that you won’t be disturbed again by a band,” said Gildart, laughing.
“I know that,” replied Haco with a grin; “it’s my opinion they’ve had enough of me for one night. But won’t ye stop an’ share the four-poster, lad? It’s big enough, an’ we’ll soon repair the damage to its bottom-timbers. There’s a knuckle o’ ham too, an’ a flask o’ claret. I brought it with me, ’cause I never drink nothin’ stronger than claret—vang ordinair they calls it in France. What say you; you’ll stop?”
“No, thank’ee, skipper, much obliged, but I’ve business on hand elsewhere. Good-night, old boy.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Plot and Counterplot, ending in a Long Chase.
One day, not long after his arrival at Athenbury, Kenneth Stuart was seated in Colonel Crusty’s drawing-room, awaiting the summons to dinner.
Pretty Bella sat beside him, endeavouring to get up a flirtation—for Bella was an inveterate flirt. Besides being pretty, she was sprightly and full of life—a giddy gay thing, much addicted to that dangerous practice of fluttering round improprieties with cheerful recklessness. She was one of those human moths whose wings, alas! are being constantly singed, sometimes burned off altogether.
Kenneth was not so stern as to object to a little of what the world calls innocent flirtation, but he did not like Bella’s style of procedure; for that charming piece of wickedness made it her aim in life to bring as many lovers to her feet as she could, and keep them there. She never had too many of them, never tired of conquering them. In the language of pugilists, “One down another come on,” was her motto.