My lord had paused to speak to the Governor, who had risen to greet him. Now he came toward us, and the crowd pressed and whispered. He bowed low to Mistress Percy, made as if to pass on, then came to a stop before her, his hat in his hand, his handsome head bent, a smile upon his bearded lips.
“When was it that we last sat to see men bowl, lady?” he said. “I remember a gay match when I bowled against my Lord of Buckingham, and fair ladies sat and smiled upon us. The fairest laughed and tied her colours around my arm.”
The lady whom he addressed sat quietly, with hands folded in her silken lap and an untroubled face. “I did not know you then, my lord,” she answered him, quite softly and sweetly. “Had I done so, be sure I would have cut my hand off ere it gave colour of mine to——”
“To whom?” he demanded, as she paused.
“To a coward, my lord,” she said clearly.
As if she had been a man, his hand went to his sword hilt. As for her, she leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a smile.
He spoke at last, slowly and with deliberate emphasis. “I won then,” he said. “I shall win again, my lady—my Lady Jocelyn Leigh.”
I dropped my hand from her chair and stepped forward. “It is my wife to whom you speak, my Lord Carnal,” I said sternly. “I wait to hear you name her rightly.”
Rolfe rose from the grass and stood beside me, and Jeremy Sparrow, shouldering aside with scant ceremony Burgess and Councillor, came also. The Governor leaned forward out of his chair, and the crowd became suddenly very still.
“I am waiting, my lord,” I repeated.