Her eyes brightened; she said cordially: “I should be very much obliged to you, sir, if you would procure a glass of lemonade for me, for I am excessively thirsty, and this odious man wouldn’t bring it to me!”

The landlord said explosively: “Your honour! Miss walks in here, as you see her, wanting me to tell her when the next coach is due for Huntingdon, and when I say there won’t be one, not till tomorrow, first she asks me if I’m needing a chambermaid, and when I tell her I’m not needing any such thing, she up and says she’ll hire a room for the night! Now, I put it to your honour—”

“Never mind!” interrupted Sir Gareth, only the faintest tremor in his voice betraying the laughter that threatened to overcome him. “Just be good enough to fetch the lady a glass of lemonade, and, for me, a tankard of your homebrewed, and we will see what can be done to straighten out this tangle!”

The landlord started to say something about the respectability of his house, thought better of it, and withdrew. Sir Gareth pulled a chair out from the table, and sat down, saying persuasively: “Now that we are rid of him, do you feel that you could tell me who you are, and how you come to be wandering about the country in this rather odd way? My name, I should tell you, is Ludlow—Sir Gareth Ludlow, entirely at your service!”

“How do you do?” responded the lady politely.

“Well?” said Sir Gareth, the twinkle in his eye quizzing her. “Am I, like the landlord, to call you miss? I really can’t address you as ma’am: you put me much too strongly in mind of my eldest niece, when she’s in mischief.”

She had been eyeing him rather warily, but this remark seemed to reassure her, which was what it was meant to do. She said: “My name is Amanda, sir. Amanda S—Smith!”