"Much, if one may judge from his complaints," answered Winnie, not a little puffed up by the baronet's condescension and approval. "I 'll not keep you from your business with my prattle, sir. Terence, I will go on to Mrs. McCloud's and stop for you at the school-house on my way back."
"You are most amiable, Mistress Farrell," said Sir Percival, gratefully.
The girl courtesied in what she hoped was a good imitation of the London manner, and continued on her way, leaving the two gentlemen to stroll toward the schoolhouse.
"Well, Sir Percival," said Farrell knowingly, "what is afoot?"
As he spoke he gave the baronet a searching look, which drew forth a pleasant smile by way of answer.
"You never lose time in getting to the point."
"Except when it's a sword," replied Farrell. "Then I can be devilish slow."
Sir Percival's face wore a pensive look as he regarded his friend.
"For a country squire you present a wonderfully fashionable appearance," he remarked, his eye travelling approvingly from the bell-crowned beaver on the youth's well-shaped head to the carefully tied stock and thence to the immaculately polished boots which ornamented feet both small and neatly turned. "Your costume would not be out of place on Pall Mall, Terence."
With characteristic cunning the courtier had detected young Farrell's weak point. The youthful Irishman's fondest wish was that he might some day be acknowledged as a beau in no less a place than London itself; a city which dictated fashion to the rest of the kingdom, drawing its own inspiration from the finicky fancy of George Brummell, now at the height of his power as dictator of society.