“I shall have a ruffian’s chin.”
“And then a fine black peak of a beard that will cock itself in the air and frighten your enemies.”
He laughed with her, and she began to unbuckle his harness, and her nearness cast a spell. She seemed part of the sun-glitter on the water, part of the green of the willows, part of the smell of the roses. And there was a mystery in her eyes.
“My lord is hungry, and athirst.”
He looked at her as she knelt.
“I am athirst, Isoult, yet will I not touch the cup—for honour’s sake.”
“Proud and steadfast as ever!”
He reached out and caught her hands.
“Isoult, would you mock me—because——”
She let herself bend nearer, her face overhanging his.