Alfred dropped the tankard and caught it again deftly. The Squire encouraged cricket. Prudence laughed. Alfred displayed some irritation.
“There you go again.”
He spoke with the Wilts accent, an accent dear to the Squire and his lady, as being the unmistakable voice of “his” people. Prudence shrugged a pretty pair of shoulders as she answered with the same rising inflection:
“I’ll go, Alfred, if so be as I’m disturbing you at your—work.”
“I came nigh on droppin’ the bloomin’ mug.”
As he spoke, he rubbed it caressingly, but his eyes dwelt even more caressingly upon the stillroom maid, who, noting his glance, began dusting the articles upon the table. As she moved from the young man, she murmured interrogatively:
“Why ever have ’ee brought it in here?”
“I’ll tell ’ee, if you’ll give us a kiss, Prue.”
“Don’t ’ee be silly!”
Alfred retorted with conviction.