"Harry's a long time getting back," Andy remarked, looking at his watch.
"He's dallying," said Billy. "I should dally myself if I had the chance."
"Perhaps he found Wellgood back; I know he wanted to speak to him—something about the settlements."
"And what might you be going to sing in London next, miss?" asked Jack, gratefully accepting a tankard of beer which Mr. Dove, in silent understanding of his secret wishes, had placed beside him.
"I'm going to be Joan of Arc," said the Nun. "Know much about her, Mr. Rock?"
"Surely, miss! Heard of her at school. The old gentleman used to talk about her too, Andy. Burnt to death for a witch, poor girl, wasn't she?"
"It seems a most appropriate part for our hostess," remarked Billy Foot.
"Silly!" Miss Dutton shot out contemptously.
"It's rather daring, but the Management put perfect reliance in my good taste," the Nun pursued serenely. "In the first song I'm just the peasant girl at—at—well, I forget the name of the village, somewhere in France—it'll be on the programme. In the second I'm in armour—silver armour—exhorting the King of France. They wanted me to be on a horse, but I wouldn't."
"The horse might be heard neighing?" Billy suggested. "Off, you know."