“I like these things I’ve got on,” said David. “They mayn’t be very good-looking, but they suit me first rate.”
“Oh, I like them, too,” agreed Miss Boothby, and her quick smile made David flush again, this time at the stubbornness of his tone.
“If you care to look at my wardrobe—” Cotterell resumed. “Ah, here is James Sampson now.”
At the door appeared a man in chocolate-colored coat and breeches, his brown hair tied in a queue.
“My steward,” stated Cotterell.
“So you’re Sampson, are you?” asked Ben. “I’ve heard of you, and I’m glad to make your acquaintance. I think I’ve seen some of your handwriting.”
“He writes a legible hand,” said Cotterell. “He keeps some of my accounts. Sampson, please show my guests to the rooms upstairs. They desire to change their attire.”
Miss Boothby touched David’s arm. “For my sake wear a suit of green,” she whispered.
David blushed. “Oh, very well,” he said awkwardly. “But I guess I’ll look like a frog.”
They followed Sampson into the hall and up the stairs. As they passed open doors they saw a number of people in gay, colonial clothes. All through the house there was the hum of voices.