“Will you ride a little way with me? There is not much more to be seen here, and I fancy they have noticed us, and are getting shy. Ah, it’s too late, for here comes young Gorwyn to offer us a drink. We must accept it, I suppose, and only pray that ’tisn’t in a cup they have all been using.” Young Gorwyn, the master of the ceremonies, the son and apprentice of the blacksmith, carried the cup of cider very carefully in his immense hands, like a child carries a nest, as though he were afraid of crushing it between them. “Farmer Morland’s brewing,” he said, grinning foolishly as he offered it. Clare drank; it was clean and sweet, pure apple-juice and sugar. She was then confronted by a difficulty with which she had no idea of how to cope: ought she to offer the cup to Calladine after having drunk from it herself? She had always the uneasy feeling in Calladine’s company that more ceremony was necessary than in her dealings with other human beings, conducted with perfect and unthinking naturalness. But Calladine, who was so grave and courtly, and who looked at her so intently while speaking to her, and again so intently while she replied, seemed to exact a different standard of manners. In this case, fortunately, he saw her unhappy hesitation, and solved the difficulty for her by stretching out his hand for the cup and draining it right off. But Gorwyn was watching, and, kindled by the unusualness of the day, winked broadly as Calladine drank, and said heartily, “There’s luck to you both!” “I hope so,” said Calladine in a low voice. He glanced quickly at Clare; she had either not heard, not noticed, or failed to interpret. “Admirable, Peter!” he said in a louder tone, as he handed back the cup. “Tell Daisy Morland from me and Miss Warrener, that her father’s brewing, which I suspect she superintends, is first class.” Young Gorwyn grinned again. “But you’ll stay to watch the broadstick, now you’re here?” he said eagerly, since to him it was the great event of the day. “Well, I think perhaps broadstick is scarcely a suitable entertainment for a young lady,--eh, Gorwyn?” said Mr. Calladine. “Races, or even wrestling, but scarcely broadstick,--a rough game, and usually unpleasant to watch at the end. I think Miss Warrener and I will ride away and leave you to your sports.” Gorwyn, who had at first looked astonished, opened his mouth to protest, then a look of contempt came over his ruddy face, succeeded by a sudden shyness; he mumbled something, and scampered back to his companions. “Oh, but I wanted to see the broadstick,” began Clare.