Thereat she fetched me cheese, and stood staring on a ring that she wore on her finger, a little in the shadow. Well, I sat idly there, sipping at my glass, for 'twas pleasant enough, and quiet. 'Twas a bare, empty tap, as it chanced, and the wench and I had it to ourselves. She was a pretty sort of figure, all in white—white mob and white apron; of a middle height and slightness pleasant in so young a maid, brisk of eye, quick of face, and with a certain abruptness of chin. She stood, as I say, staring on a ring, in a brooding seriousness, and then of a sudden she uttered a little sob and rushed her apron to her eye.
"Whoa!" says I. "Whoa there, mare," speaking softly enough, but she started up and turned about, so that her face was no longer in the light, and so remained a little while.
"Come, my pretty," said I in a good-humoured way. "Wash no colour from that blue. I'll warrant 'tis admired, and rightly. If there's any huff or bully that breeds those dew-drops give me his name, and on my word, I'll make carrion of him."
At that she turned to me again, holding herself erect, and her eyes discharged at me a glance. 'Twas not one of haughtiness merely, but rather one in which fear and defiance and anger rubbed shoulders. One might have said, indeed, that all these sentiments rained together from her pretty peepers. But then she dropped her head as quickly, and affected her interest in the bottles or the casks or something else in the distance.
"Why," says I, "I will even taste once more that delectable bin," and she came forth, reluctant, to fill my glass again. "Now," says I, when I had her there, "you're a girl of spirit; rip me, what's amiss?"
"Sir?" she says with a glare in her face.
"Come, if every pretty filly used her hind legs so hard," said I with a laugh, "what room would be left in the stalls?"
She said no word but went about her business, the which, as I am not used to rebuffs either from man, madam, or maid, nettled me; but I know such wildings; they be not pigeons nor doves nor tame sparrows neither. I must lime her with another manner; so I altered my voice, and says I, in a pleasant, but masterful, tone,—
"You must not think me any Peeping Tom," I said, "to twist his eyes on you and badger you. Tears spoil that handsome cheek, and I would know if there be no remedy. I cannot abide to see youth and beauty weeping."
She had turned her head now, and gave me a searching glance. "'Tis naught you could help in, sir," she says with some demureness, and then broke out, "'tis along of my aunt. She has put upon me and treated me ill."