At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly.
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