His robes were red, according to the King's heraldry, and, alone among the Provosts, he was girt with a great sword.

This was Adam Wayne, the intractable Provost of Notting Hill.
The King flung himself back in his chair, and rubbed his hands.
"What a day, what a day!" he said to himself.

"Now there'll be a row.
I'd no idea it would be such fun as it is.

These Provosts are so very indignant, so very reasonable, so very right.

This fellow, by the look in his eyes, is even more indignant than the rest.