“Also a full pint pot o’ your last year’s cider, Marian.”
“And perhaps a little of the cream cheese would not be amiss in the circumstances. It is wise as a rule to make quite sure in a matter of this kind.”
“That’s true,” said the innkeeper heartily. “There is nothing betwixt here and Derby that can hold a candle to her cream cheese. Bring out a ripe cream cheese, Marian.”
Anne began to tremble with excitement at the mere mention of these viands, but Gervase sat as cool and collected as any man could have done in the circumstances.
Presently a crone about seventy years of age brought forth a loaf of bread, a cheese and a jug of cider. She laid them on the bench by the side of Gervase.
With much deliberation the young man broke the bread in half and divided the cheese into two portions with his dagger. He handed one share to his companion solemnly. “I ought to tell you, Master Innkeeper,” Gervase explained, “that my sister here is about as good a judge of food as there is to be found in the Midland Counties. Tell me what you think of the cheese, my dear Philomela?”
It was as much as ever Anne could do not to appear ravenous. “I think the cheese is splendid,” she said.
“Ha! I knew it would be so!” said the landlord. “And what do you think o’ the bread and the cider, you pretty young doxey?”
“I have never tasted anything like them,” said Anne.
“Ha! I knew it would be so!” said the landlord, with an air of pride that was wonderful.