On his right stretched a spacious garden, beyond which rose the white house that was the residence of the Deputy-Governor. In that garden's main avenue, that was fringed with palm and sandalwood, he had caught sight of Miss Bishop alone. He crossed the courtyard with suddenly lengthened stride.
“Good-morning to ye, ma'am,” was his greeting as he overtook her; and hat in hand now, he added on a note of protest: “Sure, it's nothing less than uncharitable to make me run in this heat.”
“Why do you run, then?” she asked him coolly, standing slim and straight before him, all in white and very maidenly save in her unnatural composure. “I am pressed,” she informed him. “So you will forgive me if I do not stay.”
“You were none so pressed until I came,” he protested, and if his thin lips smiled, his blue eyes were oddly hard.
“Since you perceive it, sir, I wonder that you trouble to be so insistent.”
That crossed the swords between them, and it was against Blood's instincts to avoid an engagement.
“Faith, you explain yourself after a fashion,” said he. “But since it was more or less in your service that I donned the King's coat, you should suffer it to cover the thief and pirate.”
She shrugged and turned aside, in some resentment and some regret. Fearing to betray the latter, she took refuge in the former. “I do my best,” said she.
“So that ye can be charitable in some ways!” He laughed softly. “Glory be, now, I should be thankful for so much. Maybe I'm presumptuous. But I can't forget that when I was no better than a slave in your uncle's household in Barbados, ye used me with a certain kindness.”
“Why not? In those days you had some claim upon my kindness. You were just an unfortunate gentleman then.”