Master Courage would have either resisted the order altogether, or at any rate argued the point of the cleanliness of the mugs, had he dared; but the saintly man possessed on occasions a heavy hand, and he also wore boots which had very hard toes, and the lad realized from the peremptory look in the butler’s eyes that this was an occasion when both hand and boot would serve to emphasize Master Busy’s orders with unpleasant force if he himself were at all slow to obey.

He tried to catch Charity’s eye, but was made aware once more of the eternal truth that women are perverse and fickle creatures, for she would not look at him, and seemed absorbed in the rearrangement of her kerchief.

With a deep sigh which should have spoken volumes to her adamantine heart, Courage gathered all the mugs together by their handles, and reluctantly marched out of the room once more.

Hymn-of-Praise Busy waited a moment or two until the clattering of the pewter died away in the distance, then he edged a little closer to the table whereat Mistress Charity seemed still very busy with the fruit, and said haltingly: 

“Didst thou really wish to go, mistress ... to leave thy fond, adoring Hymn-of-Praise ... to go, mistress? ... and to break my heart?”

Charity’s dainty head—­with its tiny velvet cap edged with lawn which hardly concealed sufficiently the wealth of her unruly brown hair—­sank meditatively upon her left shoulder.

“Lord, Master Busy,” she said demurely, “how was a poor maid to know that you meant it earnestly?”

“Meant it earnestly?”

“Yes ... a new kirtle ... a gold ring ... flowers ... and sack-posset and pasties to all the guests,” she explained.  “Is that what you mean ... hem ... what thou, meanest, Master Busy?”

“Of a surety, mistress ... and if thou wouldst allow me to ... to ...”

“To what, Master Busy?”

“To salute thee,” said the saintly man, with a becoming blush, “as the Lord doth allow his creatures to salute one another ... with a chaste kiss, mistress.”

Then as she seemed to demur, he added by way of persuasion: 

“I am not altogether a poor man, mistress; and there is that in my coffer upstairs put by, as would please thee in the future.”

“Nay!  I was not thinking of the money, Master Busy,” said this daughter of Eve, coyly, as she held a rosy cheek out in the direction of the righteous man.

’Tis the duty even of a veracious chronicler to draw a discreet veil over certain scenes full of blissful moments for those whom he portrays.

There are no data extant as to what occurred during the next few seconds in the old oak-beamed dining-room of Acol Court in the Island of Thanet.  Certain it is that when next we get a peep at Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy and Mistress Charity Haggett, they are standing side by side, he looking somewhat shame-faced in the midst of his obvious joy, and she supremely unconcerned, once more absorbed in the apparently never-ending adornment of the refreshment table.