“Your servant, Miss Joan. ’Tis not necessary to ask if you are well this morning.”
“Your servant, Mr. Tregenna. I am quite well, I thank you,” replied Joan, with a curtsey.
It seemed to him there was in her brown eyes, as she looked quickly up and down again, a malicious suggestion that she had heard all about his unlucky encounter with the smugglers the day before.
“You will bear me no good will to-day, Miss Joan, since I come to obtain a warrant against your friends the free-traders,” said he, perceiving that her glance wandered at once in the direction of the brigadier.
“I guessed as much, sir. Indeed, the doings yesterday put the village in an uproar. They say you had a brush with some of the boldest spirits about here?”
“I’ faith, ’tis true, madam. I made acquaintance with Jem Bax, in particular, and I do e’en propose that, in return, he shall make acquaintance with the inside of a jail.”
At his mention of the name, Joan suddenly smiled, as if with an irresistible impulse to great amusement. She pursed up her lips again in a moment, but Tregenna, much nettled, said dryly—
“Doubtless, Miss Joan, you have some kindness for that young knave also, though he played me the scurviest trick I have ever known.”
And with that he proceeded to give her an account of his own compassion upon the lad, and of Jem’s ungrateful return.
There was some satisfaction, however, in seeing how Joan took this recital. Her face clouded as she listened; and when he ended, there were tears in her eyes.