“Claret, Jim,” ordered Carstares, and rose to his feet.
“I trust the drive has whetted your appetite, Warburton, for honest Chadber will be monstrous hurt an you do not justice to his capons.”
“I shall endeavour to spare his feelings,” replied the lawyer with a twinkle, and seated himself at the table.
Whatever might be Mr. Chadber’s failings, he possessed an excellent cook. Mr. Warburton dined very well, beginning on a fat duck, and continuing through the many courses that constituted the meal.
When the table was cleared, the servant gone, and the port before them, he endeavoured to guide the conversation back into the previous channels. But he reckoned without my lord, and presently found himself discussing the Pretender’s late rebelling. He sat up suddenly.
“There were rumours that you were with the Prince, sir.”
Carstares set down his glass in genuine amazement.
“I?”
“Indeed, yes. I do not know whence the rumour came, but it reached Wyncham. My lord said nought, but I think Mr. Richard hardly credited it.”
“I should hope not! Why should they think me turned rebel, pray?”
Mr. Warburton frowned.
“Rebel, sir?”
“Rebel, Mr. Warburton. I have served under his Majesty.”
“The Carstares were ever Tories, Master Jack, true to their rightful king.”
"My dear Warburton, I owe nought to the Stuart princes. I was born in King George the First’s reign, and I protest I am a good Whig.”
Warburton shook his head disapprovingly.
“There has never been a Whig in the Wyncham family, sir.”
