An' Tamsin'll tell 'ee there's a room at your sarvice,
an' reckoned purty--lookin' on to the bee-skeps an' the orchard at
the back," he explained with a meaning glance at Tamsin, who was
silent.
"Why, Tamsin, girl, what's amiss that you don't spake?" asked Peter;
and then his amazement got the better of his tact, as he added in a
stage whisper, "'Tes on'y to change rooms. Paul an' me can aisy
sleep down here afore the fire; an' us on'y offered your room as
bein' more genteel--"
"I assure you," broke in Mr. Fogo, "that I am quite recovered of my
chill, thanks to your kindness, and would rather return--much rather:
though I thank you all the same." He spoke to the Twins, but kept
his eyes on Tamsin.
"No kindness at all," muttered Peter. His face fell, and he, too,
looked at the girl.
Finding their eyes upon her, she was compelled to speak.
"Mr. Fogo wudn' care for the likes o' what we cou'd offer him," she
said. Then, seeing the pain on the men's faces, she added with an
effort to be gracious, "But ef he can put up wi' us, he knows he
shall be made welcome."
She did not look up, and her voice, in which the peculiar sing-song
of Trojan intonation was intentionally emphasised, sounded so
strangely that still greater amazement fell upon the Twins.
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