Then he washed his face and hands, and made himself dry and glowing; let down his sleeves, and served them some Yorkshire pie, and bread, and salt, and stirred a little sugar into the wine, and poured it into the saucers.
“Now eat a bit, both of you, before you go.”
Mr. Coventry responded at once to the invitation.
But Grace said, timidly, “Yes, if you will eat with us.”
“No, no,” said he. “I've not been perished with snow, nor rolled in a river.”
Grace hesitated still; but Coventry attacked the pie directly. It was delicious. “By Jove, sir,” said he, “you are the prince of blacksmiths.”
“Blacksmiths!” said Grace, coloring high. But Little only smiled satirically.
Grace, who was really faint with hunger, now ate a little; and then the host made her sip some wine.
The food and wine did Mr. Coventry so much good, that he began to recover his superiority, and expressed his obligations to Henry in a tone which was natural, and not meant to be offensive; but yet, it was so, under all the circumstances: there was an underlying tone of condescension, it made Grace fear he would offer Henry his purse at leaving.
Henry himself writhed under it; but said nothing. Grace, however, saw his ire, his mortification, and his jealousy in his face, and that irritated her; but she did not choose to show either of the men how much it angered her.