After a silence: "I am most happy that you returned in safety."
"Did you ever--ever think of me?" I asked.
"I thought," said I, "that being occupied--and so greatly sought after by so many gallants--that you might easily have forgotten me."
"That is amazing," said I, "--a maid so run after and so courted."
She plucked another blade of grass, and so sat, pulling at the tender verdure, her head bent so that I could not see what her eyes were thinking, but her lips seemed graver.
"Well," said I, "is there news of Mr. Fonda?"
"Tell me," said I, smiling, "why, when I speak, do you answer ever with a 'sir'?"
At that she looked up: "Are you not Lord Stormont, Mr. Drogue?" she asked innocently.
"Why, no! That is, nobody believes it any more than did the Lords in their House so many years ago. Is that why you sometimes say 'my lord,' and sometimes call me 'sir'?"
"But you still are the Laird of Northesk."
"Lord!" said I, laughing. "Is it that Scottish title bothers you? Pay it no attention and call me John Drogue--or John.... Or Jack, if you will.... Will you do so?"
She was still busy with the grass, and I watched her, waiting to see her dark eyes lift again--and see that little tremor of her lips which presaged the dawning smile.
It dawned, presently; and all the unrest left my breast--all that heavy dullness which seemed like the flitting shadow of a pain.
"I am contented. I love my Mistress Swift. I love and pity Lady Johnson.... Yes, I am happy."
"I know they both love you," said I. "So you should be happy here.... And admired as you are by all men...."
Again she laughed in her enchanting little way, and bent her bright head. And, presently:
"Do you wish warm woolen stockings for your men?"
"I sent to Caydutta Lodge for the garments. They are in the house. You shall choose for yourself and your men before the Continentals take their share."
I was touched, and thanked her. And now, it being near the noon hour, we walked together to the house.
The partition which Sir John had made for a gun-room, and which now served to enclose Penelope's chamber, was all hung with stout woolen stockings of her own knitting; and others lay on her trundle-bed. So I admired and handled and praised these sober fruits of her diligence and foresight, and we corded up some dozen pair for my white people; and I stuffed them into my soldier's leather sack.