He was wearing breeches and doublet of reddish brown stuff, with gilt buttons,—a suit that pleased her best of all his clothes. In the autumn sunlight that slanted through the door, his hair was touched with yellow, and the color of his skin seemed almost healthy. He had spoken too in a friendly voice. It was clear that he was ready to make up, after the quarrel of two weeks ago in which she had struck him.
She was not sorry to be friends with him again. After all, she found Herbert better company than no company at all.
"Look 'ee, Sybil!" said Herbert, as he met her eyes.
He tiptoed into the hall, and held up before her a little creel and a long line.
"The cook-maid hath given me a dainty bit to eat, and I've here a brave new line. What sayst thou if we go angling for gudgeons to-day in the brook under Nutfold wood?"
Merrylips clapped her hands and forgave Herbert everything.
"A-fishing? Wilt take me, Herbert? I've not cast a line in a twelvemonth. Oh, wilt thou truly take me, Herbert?" she cried.
"Now hush!" he snapped. "'Tis like a silly girl to be squawking it out so all the house may hear. To be sure, I'll be gracious to take thee with me, Sybil, if thou'lt be good—"
"I will!" promised Merrylips, headlong.
"And do as I bid thee—"