"Sir Robert will be impatient," demurred the lieutenant.
"But half-hour," protested Souza. "What is half-hour? And in
half-hour you will have dine."
"True," ventured the cornet; "and it's the devil himself knows when
we may dine again."
"And the dinner is ready. It can be serve this instant. It shall,"
said Souza with finality, and pulled the bell-rope.
Mr. Butler, never dreaming - as indeed how could he? - that Fate
was taking a hand in this business, gave way, and they sat down to
dinner. Henceforth you see him the sport of pitiless circumstance.
They dined within the half-hour, as Souza had promised, and they
dined exceedingly well. If yesterday the steward had been able
without warning of their coming to spread at short notice so
excellent a feast, conceive what had been accomplished now by
preparation. Emptying his fourth and final bumper of rich red
Douro, Mr. Butler paid his host the compliment of a sigh and pushed
back his chair.
But Souza detained him, waving a hand that trembled with anxiety,
and with anxiety stamped upon his benignly rotund and shaven
countenance.
"An instant yet," he implored. "Mr. Bearsley would never pardon me
did I let you go without what he call a stirrup-cup to keep you from
the ills that lurk in the wind of the Serra.
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