"What are you doing?" asked Sir Percival, eying the poet through his glass.
"I am preparing the arithmetic," replied Moore, marking a huge six upon the board. Then turning he counted those present. "Six," said he. "One--two--three--four."
As he spoke he checked off all but Bessie and himself upon his fingers.
"Four from six," he continued, doing the subtraction with the chalk, "leaves two, Bessie and me. Good afternoon, gentlemen."
Every one laughed but Sir Percival, who contented himself with a faint smile.
"Quite so," said he, "quite a joke. My time for laughing will come later."
"The later the better," said Moore. "He who laughs last laughs best. Delay it as long as you can, and you will enjoy it the more."
"No doubt, Mr. Moore. Good afternoon to you, Mistress Dyke. Sir, I 'm your most obedient."
"Good-day, Sir Percival," said Bessie, dropping a courtesy as the baronet turned again at the door. Then, as his tall figure vanished from the threshold, she faced her lover with a little sigh of relief.
"Tom," she said reprovingly, "you must not speak as you do to Sir Percival. For a little while I feared you would have a real quarrel."