The boy was beside her in a moment.
“Forgive me, lass,” he said, “I did but want ye to promise to have no dealings with the foreigner—I—love you so, see?”
“Oh!” said Anny, laughing as she straightened her hair after his embrace. “No one would suspect you of kissing a lass before, Hal. You can’t be knowing how strong you are.”
“That’s as may be, but will you promise to have no truck with the Spaniard?” the boy persisted.
“Ay, of course I promise,” Anny sighed at his distrust as she spoke. Hal kissed her again, then walked over to the fireplace and stood for some moments, resting his head on the wooden ledge below the chimney-piece and staring down into the smoky crackling fire.
He felt that he had appeared ridiculous in Anny’s eyes, and his young blood revolted at the thought. In vain he tried to comfort himself with the thought that it was only his love for her which made him so anxious, but the idea that she must think him merely jealous would force itself on his mind, making him uncomfortable. However, he knew that the Captain might be a formidable rival so he said nothing else at the time.
Anny sat on the window-ledge, rubbing the candlestick with more energy than was necessary.
She was hurt that Hal should think her such a light-o’-love, but all the same she thrilled with pleasure to think that he was jealous of anybody because of her. It gave her such a pleasant feeling of ownership and, as she reflected happily, she was very fond of him.
Suddenly she paused to listen. Coming down the road she could hear the scrunching of heavy wagon wheels. She looked up at the old horologe on the chimney-piece.
“That won’t be Master French yet awhile, will it?” she said.