Upon a cushioned lounge within the oriel window, the sun’s setting rays tinting her dark hair, sits Hermoine. But even as he enters she is up to meet him, saying: “I’ve made no change in my toilet; I couldn’t bear to keep you waiting, you—you are so hungry!” then cries out, clapping hands: “Supper instantly.”
At once the heavy tapestries in two of the arches, drawn up by bullion cords drape themselves in graceful festoons, showing the dining-room, in which stands a table covered with snowy linen, decorated by silver and gold plate, sparkling with Venetian glass, and made pretty by flowers.
“Colonel Amati, thy arm!” murmurs Hermoine, and putting a white hand within his, the two go in together [[218]]to a meal served in a luxury Guy has never seen before, even at the court of Elizabeth; for there are strangely curious implements to eat with called forks, of which he does not know the use, preferring as a polished English gentleman his fingers and a napkin.
But his hostess insists on showing him how to use these Italian inventions, and teaches him how to get the instrument into his mouth without skewering his tongue, over which Guy laughs rather ruefully, crying: “I pray you, lady Hermoine, don’t make me lose more blood!”
At this she grows a little pale, and looking at him mutters: “Your wounds, oh yes!—your awful wounds. Eat and grow strong for my sake.” Then her loving hands compel Guy to make a giant meal, to which he is nothing loath, as the cuisine is of the finest and the wine of the rarest Spanish vintages—the Rhine wine cooled with snow and ice—a new wrinkle in luxury to which the English sailor does the fullest justice.
All this time the girl eats nothing, making her meal off Guy with her eyes.
“You—you eat nothing, my Hermoine,” whispers the cavalier, becoming anxious on his side.
“Oh, I’ve grown used to fasting,” she says, “you know I was preparing myself for convent life. Wouldn’t it have been horrible?” and a charming moue gives piquancy to the embrio nun.
“You would have entered a convent for my sake?”
“I thought so. There was a great house in Valladolid—that I was to be the Lady Abbess of—I was to dower it so grandly—”