"Confess, brother, you are more at ease when I am abroad!" Nicholas rallied him, and poured Hippocras into the delicate glass of Venetian ware before him. Gerard permitted a smile to break his gravity. "Nay, acquit me, I do not gainsay, though, ye are a mad, roystering lad." "Swashbuckler, ye were wont to call me." "Well." My lord smiled more broadly. "Oh no, I am sure he is sober enough now!" my lady said in a flutter. "No hard words, I beg! Why he numbers some thirty-four--thirty-five summers, surely?" "God 'a mercy, do I so?" Sir Nicholas said, startled. He lifted his glass, and held it up to see the light through the wine in it. He seemed to be pondering some quaint thought; my lord saw the corners of his mouth lift a little. "Time to be done with all this ruffling on the high seas," my lord said. Beauvallet shot him a quick look; there was a hidden jest in his eyes. He returned to the contemplation of his wine. My lady rose. "You will have much to say to one another," she said. "Ye will find me in the gallery anon." Beauvallet went to hold the door for her. As she passed him she put out a hand, and smiled vaguely. "Indeed, I hope you will listen to my lord, Nick. We should be glad to have you at home." He carried her fingers to his lips, but would give her neither yea nor nay. She went out, and he closed the door behind her. My lord pushed back his chair a little way from the table, sat more at his ease, and poured another glass of wine. "Sit ye down, Nick, sit ye down! Let me know your mind." He observed the secret jest still in his brother's face, and knew a feeling of some slight alarm. There was no knowing what folly Nick might be planning. Sir Nicholas pulled his chair round a little, sank into it, with one leg thrown over the arm. His fingers closed round the stem of his glass, twisting it this way and that. His other hand played gently with his pomander. My lord nodded and smiled. "I see you still have that trick of swinging your pomander. As I remember it never boded good. My memory serves, eh?" He drank his wine, and set down the glass. "Thirty-five summers! Ay, my lady is in the right of it. Thirty-five summers and still roaming the world. Now to what purpose, Nick?" Beauvallet shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, to bring rubies home for Kate," he parried. "It's what I don't like. I'll not conceal it from you. It's very well for such men as Hawkins or Drake, but I would remind you, Nick, that you stand next to me in the succession. To make the Grand Tour is well enough--though what good ye came by from it, God knoweth!" "Nay, brother," Sir Nicholas protested. "I learned to foin with the point from the great Carranza himself in Toledo! Grant me that." My lord was roused to an expression of strenuous disapproval. "A pretty ambition, God wot! All this pricking and poking with a barbarous rapier is an invention of the devil himself. An honest sword-and-buckler was good enough for our fathers."