It was now Ingrow’s turn to have his glass filled and to stare admiration at the pretty serving-woman.
“If you have a mind to enlist,” he said, temptingly, “you shall be ensign in my troop and we’ll carry your kirtle for a flag.”
Whether Mrs. Satchell considered that Tiffany was like to be embarrassed by the attentions of the gentry, or whether she considered that those attentions diverted too much notice from herself as the heroine of the servants’ hall, she certainly came to the rescue, edging her bulk between the girl and Ingrow.
“She is too green for your grace,” she insisted. “You need a fine woman like me for your flag-bearer.”
Even Ingrow’s readiness found him something at a loss for an answer. He looked as if he feared lest dame Satchell might take him in an embrace. Brilliana, now that all the glasses were charged, decided that the company had tasted enough of Mrs. Satchell’s humors.
“I thank you, Mistress Satchell,” she said, quietly, and Mrs. Satchell, rightly reading in the tones of her mistress’s voice permission to retire, withdrew in good order, beaming and bobbing to all the gentlemen and followed by Shard and Tiffany, who, with lids demurely lowered, avoided recognition of the admiring glances of Fawley and Ingrow.
Brilliana turned to her company and lifted her glass.
“Drink, gentles,” she summoned. “Drink ‘The King!’”
All the Cavaliers shouted the loyal toast so that the words “The King!” seemed to ring in every nook of the great hall; then every Cavalier drained his glass.