“Bravely said, Chivalry!” she cried. “Let it be done, and well done, ere dusk.”
Master Paul quavered before her in an ecstasy of delighted obedience.
“I fly, enchantress—I fly!” he chirruped. Then, as he turned to go, another thought struck him, and he entreated, grotesquely languishing, “Prithee, your hand to kiss first.”
Brilliana denied him affably.
“By-and-by, maybe, as the prize of your triumph. Farewell.”
After sundry strange scrapings, Master Hungerford took his departure in the direction of the stables. As soon as his back was turned, Brilliana questioned her maid.
“Well, Tiffany, is it Master Rainham?”
“Ay, my lady,” Tiffany answered, demurely. She knew there was some manner of mystification forward and yearned for the key to it. “He chafes in the music-chamber.”
“Send him here top-speed,” Brilliana commanded. With a whisk of flying skirts Tiffany scuttered back to the house, and Brilliana turned to Halfman, the laughter in her eyes seeking and finding the laughter in his.
“Well,” she said, “our angling prospers blithely. We have tickled one fish. Now for the other chub.”