There was clearly no escape now, so Wat, with his heart in his boots, strode as manfully as he could up the stair which he had been wont to climb but a day or two before with such complete and careless lack of thought.
When he opened the outer door, a cheerful smell of morning cookery took him gratefully by the nostrils, for the long ride and brisk adventure had quickened his appetite.
"Hither, cousin mine!" cried a light and pleasant voice from the kitchen.
"And welcome home again!" Maisie added, as he appeared in the doorway.
She had both her hands busy with eggs and flour about the cooking-pan.
"I cannot shake hands with you, Wat," she said, "but to spite William I will give you a nice kiss."
And she came straight to him where he stood balancing himself uncertainly just within the threshold. Wat hesitated for the smallest part of a second.
"Do it quickly, or the eggs will be spoiled," she said, standing on tiptoe with her floury hands behind her.
"A kiss is worse spoiled by haste than ever an egg can be," said Wat, as with the kindly pressure of her lips his words and his confidence began to come back to him.
At his first entering in he had seen Kate stand at the other side of the fire from Maisie, but now he looked in vain for her. Yet she had not left the room. Only at the first word of kissing she had entrenched herself behind a great oaken settle and on the farther side of a wide Dutch table, where, with her head bent upon an earthenware bowl, she began to prepare a salad with the most absolute attention and studious care.