“Myself, for instance?” Sir Anthony put up his glass. “I believe I don’t repeat myself.”
She bowed and let it go at that. A servant came to announce dinner, and Sir Anthony led the way into the dining-room at the back of the house.
There were wax candles in wrought holders on the table, and silver winking in the golden light. Two chairs were set, and two places laid, with wine in cut-glass decanters, shining covers, and fine white napery.
They sat down, Sir Anthony at the head of the small table, and Prudence on his left. Dishes were presented to her; she made a fair meal, and the talk ran merrily. Sir Anthony spoke of a visit to Newmarket, and begged Prudence’s company. When she paused before making reply he said provocatively: — “You daren’t say me nay this time, Peter. Remember my displeasure on another such occasion.”
She suspected him of teasing her and looked up smilingly. “What, am I supposed to fear that, sir?”
Sir Anthony was busy with the carving of a chicken, but he found time to meet the challenge in the grey eyes with a look quizzical and humorous. “Don’t you, little man?”
Well, if the truth be told, one did fear it. But what was the gentleman’s drift? “I take that to be a reflection on my courage,” she said gaily. “I believe I’ve no cause to fear you.”
“You never can tell,” Sir Anthony answered. “I might lose patience with so fugitive and reserved a youth. Then have you naught to fear?”
Was this a threat, perchance? No, for the large gentleman was smiling with the same good humour. “Oh, am I to be called out?” she wondered.
“Acquit me of child murder. But I might refuse to scare away the wolf — a second time.”