"Well, her parents are the best judges," said Master Etheridge. "I must go down to the shop; you will eat dinner with us, friend Ralph?"
"I thank you, sir; but I must meet a gentleman elsewhere at eleven o'clock."
If Mistress Millicent had taken his meaning, he thought, she would now see the necessity of speedily having a word with him alone.
After the goldsmith had left the room, Sir Peregrine directed the conversation into such channels that Holyday was perforce out of it. The old knight evidently thought that enough talk had gone to the affairs of this young gentleman from Kent.
The scholar, wondering how matters would go, agitated within but maintaining a kind of preternatural calm without, ventured to scan Millicent's face for a sign. She was regarding him furtively, as if she apprehended, yet feared to find herself deceived; in truth, her experience with Captain Ravenshaw had made it difficult for her to hope, or trust, anew. But surely fate could not twice abuse her so; this must indeed be Ralph Holyday,—her father was not likely to be deceived a second time,—and the Holydays were neighbours of her uncle, from whom she had not entirely ceased to look for aid. In any case, there, in the shape of Sir Peregrine, was a horrible certainty, to which a new risk was preferable. With a swift motion, therefore, she put her finger to her lip; and Master Holyday felt a great load lifted from his mind.
While Sir Peregrine was entertaining Mistress Etheridge with a minute account of how he had once cured himself of a calenture, Millicent suddenly asked:
"What is the posy in your wedding-ring, Master Holyday?"
The scholar screwed up his eyes to see the rhyme traced within the circlet.
"Nay, let me look," she demanded, impatiently. "I have better eyes, I trow."
He handed her the ring; she walked to the window, to examine it in good light; the casement was open, to let in the soft May air. Suddenly she turned to the others, with a cry: