At last she let him go, and he beat an ignominious retreat, grazing his shins in his haste against the furniture. He left the sitting-room at a run, closely followed by Mrs. Hulver; and as he passed out of the door the slab of raw meat that had relieved the warrior's wounds—flung by the hand of the outraged woman—caught him in the small of his back. The sweeper's broom, hurled after the beef, rattled on his naked calves, inadvertently exposed as, in a hurry, he gathered up his flowing muslin cloth.
William's shoulders shook. The sweeper woman hid her face in her cloth and grinned, in fearful doubt lest she was committing blasphemy in daring to smile at one of the twice-born. As for Mrs. Hulver she dropped into her capacious cane chair and let herself go. She rocked in helpless laughter, and the lounge creaked in sympathy with her movements.
"That was a sight to make you feel better, sonnie!" she said, as soon as she could speak. "The man ran like a bandicoot with its tail cut off! I wish you could have sat up and looked at him, the impudent budmash! He won't forget his visit to the college in a hurry, or my name is not Maria Hulver! I'm glad I wasn't born to run away from a bit of beef like that! He came in so proud and insolent, but he went away with a flea in his ear. As William, your father, used to say: 'There are many who go out for wool but come back shorn.' Now we'll attend to this eye."
She pulled herself together and rose from her chair. The poultice made by the sweeper was thrown away, though it was still hot.
"That was only to pass the time and keep her there, the finest bogie to frighten my lord with that I could have found! I was glad to see that you could laugh with me, Bonnie. It shows you're mending."
She busied herself over his wounds with soft tender touch.
"Poor boy! Whichever side the victory lay you didn't get off without some hard treatment; but we'll soon get you well."
"How good you are to me—mother!" replied the invalid gratefully.
"That's right. Don't you forget that I'm your mother. I would like to get your enemy on his bended knees and make him pray for forgiveness for knocking you about like this—a man twice your age, too! Shame on him! But, there! as William—that was my third—said when the sergeant locked him up, thinking he was the worse for liquor when he wasn't: 'Apologies make poor plaster.' The sergeant was a bit hasty and he knew William's ways and leanings. But he was wrong that time. William wasn't drunk; he was dazed with the sun; and the sergeant apologised handsomely."
That evening Wenaston once more interviewed his housekeeper.