French got up. “I don’t know what’s taken you all,” he said, puzzled. “When I first comes in, Master Gilbot flies out wi’ the young lad, and now you look at me as though I’d done some mortal wrong. What is it?” “Oh! go to with ye.” Sue’s back was toward him and he could not see her face but her voice sounded sharp. “I’m getting your rum as fast as may be.” “What need you be worrying about rum?” French looked round him miserably. “I’m sorry,” he said, changing his weight from one foot to the other and his hands becoming noticeable and awkward. Sue only sighed impatiently and busied herself with the rum. French turned on his heel. “All’s well then,” he said finally. “I’ll be getting down West. I reckon I knows when I’m welcome or not, Mistress--Mistress Susan Gilbot,” and he strode to the door. “There’s other inns,” he said meaningly. Sue turned about in a moment. “Oh, wait for your rum, Master French,” she said. French did not move but stood straddle-legged in the doorway looking out into the yard. “Rum? Oh, that don’t matter; an inn’s got more uses than just to sell rum, mistress,” he said. “Indeed, to provide wenches for any man to insult, I reckon,” said Sue, tossing her head and dashing her hand across her eyes. French turned round quickly. “Why, who’s been insulting you, lass?” he said sharply. Sue laughed and turned her head away. “What’s that to you?” she said. French shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going,” he remarked, and stepped down the stone stair into the yard. Sue swallowed once and then ran after him. “Prithee wait while I hot your rum, sir,” she said. French turned willingly. “I’d do aught for you when you ask me like that, Sue,” he said gently, as he followed her back into the kitchen and sat down while she bustled around with a tankard, hardly knowing what she did. French watched her critically. “Aught been upsetting you, mistress?” he asked. “Nay.” Sue blushed again and stumbled over a form. The big man sighed and looked into the fire. “Been thinking of the Spaniard?” he asked half between his teeth. “No,” said Sue so vehemently that he jumped. “I have not, nor am like to.” French smiled on her. “Well, that’s all right, then, ain’t it?” he said cheerfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly. French’s smile faded. “No, that’s right,” he said almost mournfully, “that’s right.” And there was silence for a few moments. He drank his rum, and after opening and shutting his mouth once or twice, rose to go. Sue watched him to the door and then in spite of herself the tears began to trickle down the side of her nose, and she sobbed once audibly. French was at her side in a moment. “What is the matter, lassie?” he said kindly, all his shyness vanishing as he whipped out a large yellow handkerchief and began to wipe her eyes hastily. “Are you ill?” Sue sobbed violently. “No,” she said angrily, and then snatching the handkerchief out of his hand buried her face in it.