Marjolaine was now in the shadow of the elm. She examined every house in the Walk. "Number One 's asleep; Number Two 's combing her wig; Number Three 's working; Number Five's nursing one of the four; and Number Six"—poor Doctor Sternroyd!—"doesn't matter. I 'll risk it." She turned to go in, but stopped. "What would you like?"
Jack protested, "Oh, my dear young lady!—It's not for me to say. Anything you offer me—anything!"
Ticking the items off on her pretty fingers, Marjolaine enumerated the various beverages stored in her mother's cupboard. "We have elderberry wine; cowslip wine; red-currant wine; and gooseberry wine."
Jack's face was a study. It had grown so long that Marjolaine exclaimed with genuine sympathy, "Why, you look quite ill! Which do you say?"
It was a choice between poison and discourtesy, but Jack was equal to it. "I 've been brought up very simply. I should never have the presumption to ask for any of those. Have n't you any ale?"
"Ale!" cried Marjolaine, "how low!"
"I said I 'd been brought up simply."
"We have no ale."
Before he could stop himself Jack had cried "And this is England!"
But Marjolaine had had an idea. "I know! There 's Maman's claret. She takes it for her health. What do you say to that?"