Sir Blaise knitted puzzled brows while Evander, having made the effective pause, continued, suavely:
“In the which judgment they erred, for he does not merit so creditable a praise. Sure they can never have seen him who couple in any way the name of Sir Blaise Mickleton with the title of gentleman.”
Even Sir Blaise’s dulness could not misinterpret Evander’s meaning, and rage resumed its sway.
“You crow! You kite!” he fumed. His wrath could find no more words, but he made a stride towards Evander, menacing. Brilliana stepped dexterously between the two. As she told Tiffany later, she felt as if she were gliding between fire and ice.
“One side of me was frozen, and the other done to a crisp.” She lifted her hand commandingly.
“We will have no bickering here,” she protested. Evander paid her a salutation, and, moving a little aside, resumed his book. He would not retire while Sir Blaise was in presence, but he guessed that the lady wished for speech with her friend. Sir Blaise did not find her words consolatory, though she affected consolation.
“The bear licks with a rough tongue,” she whispered. Sir Blaise slapped his palms together.
“You shall see me ring him, you shall see me bait him, if you will but leave us.”
“How shall I see if I leave?” Brilliana asked, provokingly. “But ’tis no matter.”
As she spoke she thought of Halfman, and a merry scheme danced in her head.