They shouted, in an unseemly way, Queeney thought, at their breakfast-table, to hear that three of the English party, namely, Captain Abrane, Mr.Mallard, and Mr.Potts, had rung for tea and toast in bed.

Lord Simon Pitscrew, Lord Brailstone, and the rest of the English were sore about it; for it certainly wore a look of constitutional inferiority on the English side, which could boast of indubitably stouter muscles.

The frenzied spirits of the Welsh gentlemen, when riding off, let it be known what their opinion was.

Under the protection of the countess's presence, they were so cheery as to seem triumphantly ironical; they sent messages of condolence to the three in bed.
With an undisguised reluctance, the countess, holding Mr.Owain Wythan's hand longer than was publicly decent, calling him by his Christian name, consented to their departure.

As they left, they defiled before her; the vow was uttered by each, that at the instant of her summons he would mount and devote himself to her service, individually or collectively.
She waved her hand to them.