Brooking laughed and took the baronet's arm.
"Come, then," said he, pointing to the door with his walking-stick.
"Perhaps Mr. Dyke will read us another poem," said Sir Percival, hopefully.
"Heaven forbid!" whispered his lordship.
"Could anything be more appropriate?" continued the baronet. "We drink the wine pressed from our friend's own grapes, while we listen to the poetry his muse has sipped from the fountain of the gods upon Parnassus."
"You should write poetry, Sir Percival," said Mr. Dyke, much flattered.
"I 'll leave that to Mr. Moore," answered the baronet, advancing towards Bessie.
"There are several other things I wish you would leave to me," said the poet.
"No doubt," replied Sir Percival. "My arm, Mistress Dyke?"
"I must decline that honor," said Bessie. "My duties require me to remain here for a while longer."