Sally listened to all this with a slight, slow smile, not much embarrassed, for she was accustomed to her father’s outbursts, but with an easy modesty which was very attractive.
“Don’t let your dinner get cold, father,” she said, drawing herself away from his arm. “You’ll call when you’re ready for your pudding, won’t you?”
They were left alone, and Athelny lifted the pewter tankard to his lips. He drank long and deep.