"True enough--yet, neither is he afraid to brave the hazard; he is a hard fighter, in love as well as war." "I find no fault with him for that," De Lacy answered, "so long as he fight fair." She gave him a quick glance of interrogation. "Would you trust him to fight fair?" she asked. "I usually trust every man of noble birth until experience prove him undeserving." "And you have had no experience with Darby?" "No--not yet." A sly smile crossed her lips and she was about to comment further, when Lord Ware's barge suddenly swung out from behind a large vessel and met them. "We are going to the Tower," the Countess called. "Will you not meet us there?" The rowers backed water instantly, and the two boats drifted slowly past each other. "We will join you very shortly," Lady Mary answered--then smiled at De Lacy. The Earl of Ware looked curiously at the Countess. "Now why this sudden notion for the Tower?" he asked, when the barges had drawn apart. "But a moment since and you declined to stop there and preferred to stay afloat." "A moment since is far aback with a woman," the Countess laughed--"nor had I then seen the Lady Mary." "Nor the Knight with her," said Ware sententiously. She made no answer, save to look him in the face with calm composure. "Who is this De Lacy," the Earl asked with, a supercilious shrug; "one of the new nobility?" A faint smile came into her eyes. "New? May be, my lord--the term is but relative--yet _I_ would scarce call him so: his ancestor came with Norman William and built Pontefract." "So . . . one of old Ilbert's stock. Well, even a Ware may not cavil at that blood . . . though it is passing strange I never heard of him until within the week." "Strange for him or for you?" she asked. "For me, of course--seeing that he has been so much at Court." The tone was bantering, yet the sarcasm was deliberately veiled. She turned upon him rather sharply. "My lord," said she, "if you would criticise Sir Aymer de Lacy, do not, I pray, make me your confidant. He is my good friend." "And you like him . . . well?" he questioned. "Aye, that I do," she retorted instantly. "It is a pity his sort are growing scarce." "His sort!" the Earl inflected. "In family, mean you, or in looks?" "In manners, mainly." The Earl shrugged his shoulders. "French training," he drawled. "There never was one came from that Court but caught you all with his bow and talk." "Perchance, my lord, it has never occurred to you that, save in him she wed, a woman cares only for a man's manners and his speech." "And what does she care for in him she weds?" "Ask her whom you wed." "And what, think you, will the bride of this De Lacy find in him beneath his bow and speech?" She turned and looked him in the eyes. "An English gentleman--a trusty Knight," she answered. He laughed--and now his air was light and merry.