There was silence between them. Presently he continued more lightly.
"That, Mistress Barbara, is a man's love; what do you know of a woman's?"
"A woman's love!" she began dreamily. Then on a sudden she sprang to her feet with a sudden cry.
"Oh! my pasty, my pasty! I had altogether forgot it."
She flew to open the oven-door, but alas! it was too late, the pasty was a cindered crust. She drew it out and laid it on the table, then turned to Captain Protheroe with a look of deep reproach. To her indignation he was laughing heartily at the disaster.
"Oh! 'tis too bad!" she cried indignantly. "'Twas you who made me forget it."
"'Pon my honour, Mistress Barbara, I am very sorry," he answered penitently; "is't indeed ruined. Could we not scrape it or—or in some other means——"
"No," she answered in melancholy tone; "'tis useless. I must e'en set to work upon another."
"But I may stay and talk to you?" he pleaded.
"Certes, no," she cried sharply; "'twould but cause me to forget again. Prithee, leave me alone, I do better so. Indeed I will not have you here. Go!"