Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what was written to me.
The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now, painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter.
I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced at Nick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper,—a cornet of Border Horse, and as solemn as he was young.
"Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and my compliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, and shall be—happy—to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour."
Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy, mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like the celebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway.
"Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust.
"Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all, it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who now was virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within that magnificent domain of which his great father had been creator and absolute lord.
"I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice.
He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige——" and then, sorry, laid a quick hand on my arm.
"Forgive me, Jack. My father wears two gold rings in his ears. Your father wore them on his fingers. I know I am a boor until your kindness makes me forget it."