“Immensely glad to hear it, sir. Let’s see! Is this the twelfth time you’ve had him sure? ’Pon honour, he must have more lives than the proverbial cat,” drawled Sir Robert insolently.
There was one thing about Volney I could never enough admire. He was no respecter of persons. Come high, come low, the bite of his ironic tongue struck home. For a courtier he had the laziest scorn of those he courted that ever adventurer was hampered with; and strangely enough from him his friends in high place tolerated anything. The Prince of Wales and his brother Cumberland would not speak to each other, yet each of them fought to retain Volney as his follower. Time-servers wondered that his uncurbed speech never brought him to grief. Perhaps the secret of his security lay in his splendid careless daring; in that, and in his winning personality.
“By God, Volney, sometimes I think you’re half a Jacobite,” said Cumberland, frowning.
“Your Grace does me injustice. My bread is buttered on the Brunswick side,” answered the baronet, carelessly.
Volney’s sardonic smile came into play. “Otherwise my well-known caution, and my approved loyalty,—Egad, I had almost forgotten that!—refute such an aspersion.”
“Himmel! If your loyalty is no greater than your caution it may be counted out. At the least you take delight in tormenting me. Never deny it, man! I believe you want the Pretender to get away.”
“One may wish the Prince——”
“The Prince?” echoed Cumberland, blackly.
“The Young Chevalier then, if you like that better. ’Slife, what’s in a name? One may wish him to escape and be guilty of no crime. He and his brave Highlanders deserve a better fate than death. I dare swear that half your redcoats have the sneaking desire to see the young man win free out of the country. Come, my good fellow”—turning to me—“What do they call you—Campbell? Well then, Campbell, speak truth and shame the devil. Are you as keen to have the Young Chevalier taken as you pretend?”