But before I could start the conversation we were again interrupted. The
latch clicked, the door opened, and in walked my Lord Brocton.
CHAPTER VI
MY LORD BROCTON
I was as new to a life of action as an hour-old duckling is to water, and
this ironical upset of all my plans left me helpless. The very last man
whom I wanted to see Mistress Waynflete was here, his plumed hat sweeping
to the floor, triumph on his handsome face and in his easy, languid tones.
Indeed, more astonishing than his being here, was his manner and bearing.
At Master Dobson's, a natural remark of mine had beaten all his wits out
of him. Here his assurance was such that it puzzled me out of action.
"My sergeant, madam," he began, "no mean judge, since he has seen the
reigning beauties of half the capitals of Europe, told me to expect a
prize, but it is the prize. Master Wheatman, you are not, I am told, as
good a judge of cattle as Turnip Townshend, but you are, let me tell you,
a better one of women. I understand you know. Both acres and solatium
shall be mine in any event. And, dear Margaret, though I do not understand
what your haughtiness is doing here alone with my farmer friend, I need
hardly say that your devoted servant greets you with all humility.
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