“Didn’t they come here this morning? And last night? And if she’d been here, or the child—
“Ay, but they weren’t!” Bess answered brusquely. “And that’s the reason the coves won’t come again. For the matter of that,” turning fiercely on them, “who was it cleaned up after you, you dirty dogs, and put this place straight? Without which they’d have known as much the moment they put their noses in—as if the girl had been sitting on the settle there. Who was it thought of that, and did it? And hid you safe upstairs?”
“You did, Bess—you did!” the gipsy answered, speaking for the first time. “And a gay, clever wench you are!” He looked defiantly at Lunt. “You’re a game cove,” he said, “but you’re not fly!”
Lunt for answer fired half a dozen oaths at him. But Giles interposed.
“We’re all in one boat,” he said. “And food’s plenty. Let’s stop jawing and to it!”
Two of the men seemed to think the advice good. And they began to eat, still debating. The third, Saul, continued to listen to his companions, but his sly eyes never left Henrietta, who sat a little farther down the table on the opposite side. She was not for some time aware of his looks, or of their meaning. But Bess, who knew his nature—he was her cousin—and who saw only what she had feared to see, frowned as she marked the direction of his glances. In the act of sitting down she paused, leant over the table, and with a quick movement swept off the Hollands bottle.
But the gipsy, with a grin, touched Lunt’s elbow. And the ruffian seeing what she was doing, fell into a fresh fury and bade her put the bottle back again.
“I shall not,” she said. “You’ve ale, and plenty. Do you want to be drunk if the girl’s folks come?”
“Curse you!” he retorted. “Didn’t you say a minute ago that they wouldn’t come?”
Giles sided with him—for the first time.