The climax had been reached in the serious desertions after the Philips Norton fight, and the flight of Paymaster Goodenough with the funds for the campaign.

The company sat about the long oak table on which a map was spread, and Colonel Wade was speaking when Wilding entered.
On his appearance Wade ceased, and every eye was turned upon the messenger from London.

Ferguson, fresh from his sermon, sat with elbows resting on the table, his long chin supported by his hands, his eyes gleaming sharply under the shadow of his wig which was pulled down in front to the level of his eyebrows.
It was the Duke who addressed Mr.Wilding, and the latter's keen ears were quick to catch the bitterness that underlay his words.
"We are glad to see you, sir; we had not looked to do so again." "Not looked to do so, Your Gr...

Majesty!" he echoed, plainly not understanding, and it was observed that he stumbled over the Duke's new title.
"We had imagined that the pleasures of the town were claiming your entire attention." Wilding looked from one to the other of the men before him, and on the face of all he saw a gravity that amounted to disapproval of him.
"The pleasures of the town ?" said he, frowning, and again--"the pleasures of the town?
There is something in this that I fear I do not understand." "Do you bring us news that London has risen ?" asked Grey suddenly.
"I would I could," said Wilding, smiling wistfully.

"Is it a laughing matter ?" quoth Grey angrily.
"A smiling matter, my lord," answered Wilding, nettled.