"Excepting one," said Jack, archly. "Lady Rookwood won't attend, I think."
"Ay, excepting her ladyship and her ladyship's abigail. All the rest go with me, and form part of the procession. You go too."
"Of course. At what time do you start?"
"Twelve precisely. As the clock strikes, we set out—all in a line, and a long line we'll make. I'm waiting for that ould coffin-faced rascal, Peter Bradley, to arrange the order."
"How long will it all occupy, think you?" asked Jack, carelessly.
"That I can't say," returned Titus; "possibly an hour, more or less. But we shall start to the minute—that is, if we can get all together, so don't be out of the way. And hark ye, Jack, you must contrive to change your toggery. That sky-blue coat won't do. It's not the thing at all, at all."
"Never fear that," replied Palmer. "But who were those in the carriages?"
"Is it the last carriage you mean? Squire Forester and his sons. They're dining with the other gentlefolk, in the great room up-stairs, to be out of the way. Oh, we'll have a grand berrin'. And, by St. Patrick! I must be looking after it."
"Stay a minute," said Jack; "let's have a cool bottle first. They are all taking care of themselves below, and Peter Bradley has not made his appearance, so you need be in no hurry. I'll go with you presently. Shall I ring for the claret?"
"By all means," replied Titus.