"You are mistaken again," said he, "that hat is green."
"Indeed?" quoth Mr. Wilding, like one surprised and he turned to Trenchard, who was enjoying himself. "What is your own opinion of it, Nick?"
Thus appealed to, Trenchard's reply was prompt. "Why, since you ask me," said he, "my opinion is that it's a noisome thing not meet for a gentleman's table." And he took it up, and threw it through the window.
Sir Rowland was entirely put out of countenance. Here was a deliberate shifting of the quarrel he had come to pick, which left him all at sea. It was his duty to himself to take offence at Mr. Trenchard's action. But that was not the business on which he had come. He became angry.
"Blister me!" he cried. "Must I sweep the cloth from the table before you'll understand me?"
"If you were to do anything so unmannerly I should have you flung out of the house," said Mr. Wilding, "and it would distress me so to treat a person of your station and quality. The hat shall serve your purpose, although Mr. Trenchard's concern for my table has removed it. Our memories will supply its absence. What colour did you say it was?"
"I said it was green," answered Blake, quite ready to keep to the point.
"Nay, I am sure you were wrong," said Wilding with a grave air. "Although I admit that since it is your own hat, you should be the best judge of its colour, I am, nevertheless, of opinion that it is black."
"And if I were to say that it is white?" asked Blake, feeling mighty ridiculous.
"Why, in that case you would be confirming my first impression of it," answered Wilding, and Trenchard let fly a burst of laughter at sight of the baronet's furious and bewildered countenance. "And since we are agreed on that," continued Mr. Wilding, imperturbable, "I hope you'll join us at supper."
"I'll be damned," roared Blake, "if ever I sit at table of yours, sir."
"Ah!" said Mr. Wilding regretfully. "Now you become offensive."
"I mean to be," said Blake.
"You astonish me!"
"You lie! I don't," Sir Rowland answered him in triumph. He had got it out at last.
Mr. Wilding sat back in his chair, and looked at him, his face inexpressibly shocked.
"Will you of your own accord deprive us of your company, Sir Rowland," he wondered, "or shall Mr. Trenchard throw you after your hat?"
"Do you mean..." gasped the other, "that you'll ask no satisfaction of me?"
"Not so. Mr. Trenchard shall wait upon your friends to-morrow, and I hope you'll afford us then as felicitous entertainment as you do now."