"Mix them up, Nathan, mix them up," gaily exclaimed Manners as he stepped into the room. "We will give the Vernons a dose."
Edmund was startled, and he hastily retreated to his engine to protect it.
"Avaunt!" he cried, "touch it not."
"Nay, I want not to injure it," returned the other, whose smile contrasted with the alchemyst's scowl. "Shake hands, man; I will do thee no harm."
"Beware," cried Edmund, distrustfully, as he covered over the angel.
"Beware!"
"Edmund, thou speakest over rashly," interposed Sir Ronald. "Master Manners would honour thee, and thou treatest him so lightly. Together you may accomplish your designs and work whatever you will; the past—"
"Is buried with its forefathers and forgotten," quickly exclaimed
Manners. "Come, I greet thee on equal terms. I would be thy friend."
Edmund shook the proffered hand as though it were a bar of red-hot iron he had been commanded to hold, or a phial of his precious elixir he was carrying, and he felt by no means flattered at the reference to their equality, just as if he, too, had discovered such mighty secrets.
"I shall not want for friends soon, forsooth; the great have ever many," he replied.
Manners laughed.