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Evander smilingly complimented Mistress Satchell on the excellence of her table, to the good dame's great gratification. But much to Tiffany's indignation he paid little heed to her pretty face. The vane of Halfman's attitude towards the captive had veered strongly in the past half-hour.
Mistress Satchell turned a damp, shining face and a questioning eye upon Tiffany. "Is not he a dashing lad for a Puritan?" she gasped, patting her ample chest with both hands as if to fondle her newly recovered breath. Tiffany, who was bearing her mistress's lute, shrugged and pouted. "I see little to like in him," she snapped.
He gave a shrill cheer which was echoed loudly by men and boy, and so cheering they tramped out of the hall in the trail of Mother Satchell, Garlinge staggering under the load of pikes which the lad had officiously foisted on to his shoulder, Clupp laughing vacantly after his manner, and steadfast old Shard waving his red cap and chirping his shrill huzzas.
"To listen to Dame Satchell, one would think that no man had ever seen a horse or known one dish from another before this." Brilliana gave her handmaid a glance of something near akin to displeasure. "I think you all talk and think too much of the gentleman. I see little to praise in him save a certain coolness in peril. Let us have no more of him.
Even Ingrow's readiness found him something at a loss for an answer. He looked as if he feared lest dame Satchell might take him in an embrace. Brilliana, now that all the glasses were charged, decided that the company had tasted enough of Mrs. Satchell's humors. "I thank you, Mistress Satchell," she said, quietly, and Mrs.
But she still questioned Mistress Satchell smoothly, thinking the while of a man intrenched behind a table, one man against six. "What are these marvels?" she asked. Mistress Satchell was voluble of collected encomiums.
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