"Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced.
"Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly.
The new-comer looked at Charcam. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew.
"You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose.
"Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. "I never stand upon ceremony where I know I shall be welcome. We have met before."
"Indeed!" rejoined Sir Rowland, haughtily; "perhaps, you will refresh my memory as to the time, and place."
"Let me see. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland."
The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention."
The stranger smiled incredulously.