“Show me another tavern this side of Westminster that entertains guests of like rank.  If they were to drop into the Dog’s Head, old Robbins would drop dead.  And on what would he serve them?  I would wager a jacobus to a farthing that he hasn’t a tablecloth of real linen in his house, and as for forks, why, he never heard of them.  Your fingers and a knife at the Dog’s Head!  The Old Swan serves its guests of high rank with five shilling linen and silver forks.  Silver, mind you, hammered from unalloyed coin by Backwell himself.  If any of you happen to be at the Dog’s Head, drop a hint that you saw a princess and a duchess in the Old Swan’s small dining room.”

If a guest doubted Pickering’s statement concerning the quality of his guests, he led them to the door of the small dining room, where the sceptic was relieved of his doubts, for Frances and Nelly looked their assumed parts convincingly.

Soon after Nelly’s dinner had been served, a handsome gentleman entered the tap-room, sat down at a table, and tapped with his sword-hilt for service.  His doublet and trunks of rich velvet, his broad beaver hat with its long flowing plume, and his silken hose, had all been elegant in their good days, but now they were stained, shabby, and almost threadbare in spots.  His shoe buckles showed vacant jewel holders, and his sword hilt was without a precious stone, all giving evidence that their owner had been dealing with pawnbrokers.  He was shabby from head to feet, though he bore himself with the convincing manner of a gentleman.

Pickering sent the barboy to wait on the newcomer, but the boy returned immediately and whispered:—­

“Ye made a mistake in sending me, master.  Better send one of the maids or Mistress Betty.  The gentleman is more than he seems to be.”

“What did he say?” asked Pickering.

“’Ee didn’t say nothing,” answered the boy. “’Ee looked at me.”

At that moment Betty came in, and Pickering nodding toward the stranger, she went to serve him.  When she stopped by his table, she made a perpendicular courtesy, and asked:—­

“How may I serve you, sir?”

“You may bring me a bit of cheese, Betty, and a mug of your father’s famous beer,” said the gentleman, giving his order modestly.

“Very well, sir,” returned Betty, making another stiff courtesy to “a bit of cheese and a mug of beer.”  But while her knee was bent, she caught a glimpse of the man’s face beneath the drooping brim of his hat, and the stiff courtesy instantly changed to a bow as she exclaimed softly:—­

“Ah, Master Hamilton, I did not know you.  We have not seen you at the Old Swan this many a day, and—­and you are very much changed, sir.”

“You are not changed, Betty, unless you have grown prettier, if that be possible,” returned George Hamilton.