"Surely not, since I am still here. But you must know that I have never seen his face, as yet."
"And is that strange? You must not forget that he is Gilbert Stair, and you are Roger Ireton's son."
"I am not likely to forget it. But still a word of welcome to the unbidden guest would not have come amiss. And it was none of my seeking—this asylum in his house."
"True; but that has naught to do with any coolness of my father's."
"What is it, then?—besides the fact that I am Roger Ireton's son?"
"I think 'twas what you said to Mr. Pengarvin."
"That little smirking wretch? What has he to say or do in this?"
She looked away from me and said: "He is my father's factor and man of affairs."
"Ah, I have always to be craving your pardon, Margery. But I said naught to this parchment-faced—to this Mr. Pengarvin, that might offend your father, or any."
"How, then, will you explain this, that you swore to drive my father from Appleby Hundred as soon as ever you had raised a following among the rebels?"