“Oh, sir, you flatter me,” she protested.
“Not at all, ’tis naught but truth. What are these heartshaped cakes? They should be prophetic.”
“They be queen cakes, sir,” said Durdle. “Do please to try one, for they be Mistress Hilary’s making.”
“Ha! then certainly I must have one, for, as no doubt you perceive, Mrs. Durdle, I am playing a well-known game—‘I love my love with an H.’ Will you keep my secret and lend me your aid, for in these matters a man sadly needs an ally?”
“Why to be sure, sir; to be sure I will!” cried Durdle, with delight. “’Twas but this very morning I was grieving at the thought that so sweet a lady should be unwed. Oh, she’ll not be saying no to a King’s officer, sir, and I know the very best recipe for bride cakes.”
She bustled off to look for the Vicar, leaving Norton with a mocking smile playing al>out his lips.
“Bride cakes, indeed,” he muttered. “But she will doubtless prove useful.” And with that he tasted the dainty morsel which the housekeeper had handed to him. “Pah! ’tis sweet and insipid. Here, Don!” he said, whistling to the dog, “this heart may be to your liking.”
The terrier swallowed it at one gulp, and was still licking his lips when Hilary returned. There was a certain coldness in her manner.
“My uncle is out, sir,” she said, “and Zachary tells me he hath gone to visit a dying man at some distance; perhaps you will leave the papers for his signature.”
“No, I will come again; let me see, to-morrow will be Tuesday, I will come before noon,” said Norton. “Tell Mrs. Durdle the queen cakes are irresistible.”