"Ralph! Captain Protheroe! Gentlemen! You forget yourselves, I think."
Captain Protheroe flushed and bowed stiffly. "Your pardon, madame," he said coldly.
Sir Ralph looked moodily at the girl.
The danger was not yet past.
"Captain Protheroe," she continued, with the same quiet air of command, "I have dropped my—my kerchief in yonder ditch, I think. Will you have the goodness to go in search of it."
He stared at the audacity of the request, for as Barbara had never approached the place she indicated, his search promised to be a somewhat fruitless one. But meeting her resolute glance he turned without a word, and strode down into the deep tangle of gorse and bracken that covered the bottom of that dried-up ditch.
Then Barbara turned to Ralph, and used all her arts to bring him to a more peaceable frame of mind.
"Indeed, Ralph," she urged, "'tis sheer folly to be so enraged; you could scarce be more so had you run away in good truth. He meant not to offend thee, I am sure on't. He spoke but what he knew. Doubtless all the royal side think thus of the fight."
"But 'tis a sheer lie to say we ran away at the first shot, or for that matter, ran away at all. A foul, dastardly lie."
"Oh, hush, Ralph. He speaks but as he has heard, and doubtless he believes it to be true. Anyhow, 'tis nought to fight about."