George hushed him down.
“Whence do you hail, child,” he said, “and whither make?”
She whimpered. “I’m but a poor maid, out of Wiltshire, kind sir, and ’tis a husband I seek.”
“A husband!” quoth he. “Alack that I’m none myself, to accommodate your need. But if a bachelor might serve——”
The crowd hooted again.
“Pay her shot, Captain, and hold her hostage for it.”
“Shall I?” said Hamilton. He addressed the childish countenance above, observing for the first time the tiniest of patches placed under the corner of its baby mouth. That gave him some sniggering thought. It seemed to suggest the footlight Chloe rather than the genuine article. Moreover the baggage appeared, for all her seeming innocence, quite self-possessed. He wondered. “What do you say, child?” he demanded.
She had fallen back a little, using her handkerchief. Now she started, as if conscious of some question, and leaned forward again.
“Was it the gentleman with the plum-pudding eye that spoke?” she said.
A clap of new laughter greeted the seeming artless sally. George cachinnated with the rest, but in a mortified fashion.