Part 46 (1/2)
He laughed. ”Well, keep out of the sergeant's claws. He's only five miles off with a brace of his dragoons, but little Dot is watching him. The time to deal with him is not yet. Wait till his lords.h.i.+p of Brocton joins him.
What do you think of the Prince?”
”I would not have believed a prince could be so likeable, sir.”
”I am, and shall remain, a mere observer,” he said, ”a mere tracker-down of ten per cent on good security, but I don't mind admitting that, prince for prince, I prefer this young gentleman to the fat, snuffy, waddling, little drill-sergeant he's trying to displace.”
”You know the King, sir!”
”Well, and I know his weak spot, too, which is more important for our purposes. If His Gracious Majesty went to bed to-night with as many guineas in his pocket as that”--he jingled his loose coin vigorously--”he'd sleep in his breeches.”
On the way to Exeter House the Prince recovered his high spirits, and even kept us waiting in the hall while he continued some lightsome argument Margaret had led him into. At last he broke it off, laughing.
”Mr. Freake will think me an idle princeling for this, madam,” he said.
”For your offence in thus hindering our matters of state we commit you to ward, and straightly charge our loyal subject, Master Wheatman, to hold you safe in keeping till after supper, when we will undertake to show you that our Highland reel can be as graceful as your Italian fandango.”
So, in great good humour, he went off with the Colonel and Master Freake.
”Your aide-de-camp's commission runs so far, I trust,” said Margaret demurely, ”as to permit me to choose my own cell.”
”I think that might be allowed, madam,” I replied, with answerable gravity, ”but of course I must sit outside the door and keep strict watch over you.”
”You would, I suppose, feel surer of me if you sat inside the door?”
”Naturally, madam.”
”Then come along! I must know all that's knowable about that ghost. 'I never said any such thing,' quoth he! You're the cleverest man with your tongue I ever met, Oliver. And with what a pretty heat he said it! Just as, beyond a doubt, he did it with that pretty way he has.”
If words were tones, and smiles, and eye-flashes, and lip-curlings, I could tell you not only what Margaret said but how she said it, and how, in saying it, she made mad sweet music ring within me.
We were out in the square again now, threading our way among people I hardly saw for being so wrapt up in her.
”Was she a pretty ghost?”
”Very,” said I decidedly.
”How old was she?”
”Eighteen, or thereabouts.”
”Eighteen! Oh, dear! I never dreamed it was as bad as that. I think kiss-giving and kissable ghosts over thirteen ought not to be allowed.
Eighteen! It's a clear incitement to suicide!”
I was laughing at her whimsical sally when one particular item in the crowd demanded attention, for it obtrusively barred our way. It was Maclachlan, once again hot and red with haste, waving a small package he had in his hand.
”Ye left me, Mistress Margaret,” he said. ”I've been searching high and low for ye.”
”And I'm glad you've found me, for I see you've got me the olives. You are indeed kind, Mr. Maclachlan.”
”Ye left me!” he repeated pa.s.sionately.