"It may mean money enough to start you in London."
"The devil!" exclaimed the poet. "I 'll meet you then, for to London I am bound to go, sooner or later."
At this moment Lord Brooking, who had been chatting in a corner with Mr. Dyke, came forward, followed by the old gentleman.
"Sir Percival," said his lordship, a malicious twinkle in his eye, "Mr. Dyke has invited us to try a little wine of his own manufacture. You will be charmed, I know."
"A rare variety of grape, Sir Percival," said Mr. Dyke, delightedly. "In fact, I venture to assert that you have never tasted such a vintage."
"Very likely not, Mr. Dyke," replied Sir Percival, quite convinced that such was the case, and not at all sure that he might not regard himself as favored by fortune on that account.
"You will honor me?" asked Mr. Dyke, eagerly.
Sir Percival saw he could not refuse without wounding the pride of his would-be host, and therefore yielded politely.
"I shall be delighted, I am sure," he answered. Then, lowering his voice, he murmured in Brooking's ear:
"I owe you one, my lord."