“Master de Musset,” she said a little unsteadily, “would you be kind enough to—to take this back to the Captain and say I can’t accept it? Say—say of course not,” she added.
Cip de Musset rose to his feet, bewilderment on his face as he looked from one to the other of the two young people.
“Say you sent it back?” he said at last, turning to the girl. “Nay, say he sent it back,” he added, jerking his thumb in Hal’s direction.
Anny stepped forward quickly and laid her hand on his arm, anxiety written in her very posture.
“Oh, nay! I pray you, Master de Musset, say I sent it back,” she said eagerly. “I beg of you to tell my message rightly.”
Cip looked into her earnest little face and smiled.
“All right, lassie,” he said. “But,” he added, his voice and face becoming suddenly grave, “you have a care how you anger Black’erchief Dick. You young ones—you’re sweethearts, too, ain’t you?”
“Yes, but you won’t say,” Anny spoke quickly and Cip shook his head.
“Oh, no!” he said, grinning. “I won’t say. I be going.”
He moved over to the window and looked out.