Then Dick spoke again:
“I will come in for a stoup of mine host’s sweet sack,” he said, and then added softly, for the door was open, “and I would speak seriously with thee.”
Anny went into the kitchen rather self-consciously and looked round. No one was there and she went out to the scullery with the onions.
When she returned the Spaniard was sitting by the fireside, his daintily shod feet resting on the hearthstone. He did not look up as she came in, so she tripped across to the shelves to get him a tankard, and then unearthed a flagon of sack from under the cask form.
“Prithee set it here to warm, child,” said Dick, pointing to the hob.
Anny did as she was told. He touched her hand lightly as she passed him.
“And now, mistress, will it please you to sit before me?” he said.
Anny sat down, and the Spaniard looked at her in admiration for a moment before he spoke.
“Hast heard much said of Dick Delfazio?” he continued, smiling at her, and leaning forward a little, his elbow on his knee and one hand supporting his chin and shielding his face from the fire.
Anny dropped her eyes, not quite certain what to say.