"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa.
Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said.
"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss Westleigh.
"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles."
The girl could not deny it, for the table was spread in the same room,—a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard.
The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence—potent magic enough to a young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked puzzled for a moment,—then confused,—then, with a little, indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder.
"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a compliment for, oh, ever so long." She looked across the table at Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling.