“Indeed,” interrupted Brilliana, “I think there is no misunderstanding.”
Sir Blaise made an appealing gesture.
“Hear me out,” he pleaded. “Hear me and pity me. The news of his Majesty’s quarrel with his Parliament threw me into such a distemper as hath kept me to my bed these three weeks. My people held all news from me for my life’s sake. It was but this morning I was judged sound enough to hear of all that has passed. How otherwise should I not have flown to your succor? I could wish your siege had lasted a while longer to give me the glory of delivering you.”
The sternness faded from Brilliana’s gaze. She was not really angry with this overcareful gentleman; she would only have been grieved had he proved the man to serve her well. He was no more for such enterprises than your lap-dog for bull-baiting. Ridiculous in his finery, pitiful in his subterfuge, he was only a thing to smile at, to trifle with. So she smiled, and, rising, swept him a splendid reverence.
“I am your gallantry’s very grateful servant,” she whispered, having much ado to keep from laughing in his face. The fatuous are easily pacified.
“I hope you do not doubt my valor?” he asked, with some show of reassurance.
“Indeed I have no doubt,” Brilliana answered, with another courtesy. The speech might have two meanings. Sir Blaise, unwilling to split hairs, took it as balsam, and hurriedly turned the conversation.
“Well! well!” he hummed. “You seem nothing the worse for your business.”
“I am something the better,” she said, softly. Perhaps Sir Blaise did not hear her.
“Is it true,” he asked, “that you harbor a Crop-ear in this house?”