And at that laughter sprang to Peregrine’s throat, a flash of mockery to his eyes, though he replied gravely enough and meekly, “Madam, I am at all times what you would desire me.”
“Ah!” breathed Isabel watching him. Then very sweetly, “Now I see in you courtier, yet I would have you poet; therefore, sir poet, sing again.”
And Peregrine sang.
Some hour or so later, Peregrine departed, Isabel asked carelessly of her women:
“What think you of our Jester?”
“A very proper man,” quoth Brigid demurely.
“He has a sweet voice,” ventured Monica timidly.
“He differs from his sire,” mused Leonora.
Mary Chester alone was silent.