This happy suggestion was loudly applauded, and the healths were drunk off amid acclamation, the only one who did not heartily join in it being Sir Henry de la Zouch, who was annoyed to find that his petty attempt to spite his rival had failed, and that, too, by the intervention of Dorothy herself.

“Confound it all,” he muttered, “he shall not escape me like this.  Eustace.”

“Did you call?” asked the page, bending down.

“Yes,” whispered De la Zouch.  “Listen, you remember the Derby packman?”

“Aye, too well, I do.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, softly; “Master Manners killed him.”

“Oh!” gasped the astounded page.

“Remember,” added his master, “it was Manners.”

“Yes, Master John Manners,” repeated Eustace.

“Hush, that is all.  A little more of that delicious jelly of yours, sweet Dorothy,” he added in a louder tone as he turned round again to the table.

Whilst the feast was progressing, De la Zouch was pondering the fittest way of broaching the topic which lay so heavily upon his mind.  Sir Thomas Stanley had won the elder sister, he argued, why should he not win the younger?  He clearly saw that Dorothy was receding from his grasp, and that the longer he delayed, the fainter grew his chance of success.  Lady Vernon daily grew less favourable too, he noticed, and so without delay he resolved to ask Dorothy for her hand.  The present occasion was most propitious, and he determined to carry his plan into operation at once.

When the meal was ended—­and that was not very soon—­the company broke up into little parties and separated, to amuse themselves in whatever fashion they liked best.  Margaret, as the heroine of the day, was surrounded by a number of knights and ladies, who contentedly watched her as she played at chess with Benedict.  Sir John de Lacey racked his brains to the uttermost in order to sufficiently garnish the veracious little scraps of his own autobiography, and succeeded both in making the group around him open their eyes wide with surprise, and at the same time in making his listeners roar with laughter.

A marvellous hero was Sir John.  He had been the ruling spirit in more than one Continental Court during his one brief sojourn in France.  He had slain dragons, in different parts of the globe, in numbers enough to make St. George turn green with envy; and only his excessive modesty has prevented his name from being handed down to posterity.

Manners, naturally enough, joined Dorothy’s party, and went out upon the lawn to take part in a game at bowls.

“Dear me, how careless I am to-day,” she exclaimed; “there are six of us, and I have only brought four balls; I must fetch some more,” and she started to go back.

“Let me go,” said Manners.

“You,” replied Doll, “you could never find them; I will go, and you must entertain the ladies while I am away,” and she tripped across the green to the Hall.