Neville, carried beyond his prudence, drew nearer and was about to fall upon his knees before her, when he saw the door open to admit Mistress Brent, followed by a servant bearing a steaming bowl of posset.
How much of his speech had been overheard, he knew not. Manlike he found it hard to steer his bark in an instant from deep waters into the shallows of conversation; but Elinor took the helm and dashed into the safe channel.
"Mary, thou art come in good time to help me to argue terms with a too generous tenant."
Mary Brent came forward smiling, but a little bewildered.
Elinor took the goblets from the tray and filled them with the posset. "Drink!" she cried gaily. "Drink both of you to the prosperity of Cecil Manor, and I will drink a health to Cecil's tenant, Sir Christopher Neville."
With this, she swept a deep courtesy, and rising, clinked her goblet against Neville's.
At the same moment Cecil burst upon them from the stairs, his golden curls topped by Master Neville's brown cavalier hat, and the heavy cloak sweeping the floor after him as he walked.
"Good evening, madam!" he cried, sweeping off his hat before Mary Brent with a droll imitation of Neville's manner.
"Small boys," said Elinor, "wax bold as bed hour draws near. Ask pardon of Sir Christopher and be off to thy bed."
"Thou wilt come with me?"