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Jinniver, whose face had softened into tears when Pegram made his cutting speech, began to smile when the two Hobbit lads knocked the contents of the pitcher onto him. She hid her face as best she could beneath her old shawl, her cheeks reddening with suppressed mirth.
Pegram, who had been studiously ignoring the two lads until he got his early, and rather sticky, bath, now pushed his chair back in horror. He drew himself up to his full height but the lads were gone before he could get to them. “Why”, he thought. “I ought to wring their impudent necks for this.” But no words of anger came from his mouth, as he caught sight of his sister, obviously trying to hide her mirth. He was, in quick succession, angry, embarrassed, and finally, hurt.
He made an attempt to brush the dark glutinous ale from his breeches; there was little he could do about the shirt, so he pulled his cloak across the stained area. Feeling the eyes of the other man watching him, he sat back down quietly and attempted a forced smile.
“Of course,” he said, after clearing his throat. “It is to be remembered that Jinniver is a fine nursery woman. A fine woman. And I find it fitting that she has been taken to the hearts of the folk around here.” His words were addressed to the wall, as he could not and would not look anyone in the eye. His nose twitched with hurt pride.
Jinniver felt a little worried after what had happened. Much as she hated her brother’s high handed way with her, she did not like to see anyone’s feelings hurt, not even his. But she was grateful for the moment of peace which the mishap had brought to her. Finally gathering her thoughts after his surprise arrival, she wondered whether he would insist that she come home again, and what she would say to that. This was something she would never consent to, and as she knew it might involve something of a fight, she determined to construct her words carefully.
She kept the shawl over her face and watched him over the top of it, her pale eyes bright, yet a little misty as she thought of the fight she felt sure would be coming. Why her brother could not simply let her be was beyond her. So she may have been foolish when she was young; this she knew all too well, but wasn’t she grown since then? And the world changed?
Pegram’s irritation with his sister’s behaviour began to grow again, and he glowered as he sat facing the wall, thinking about how she was behaving. She was not even dressed appropriately, and was even drinking, in the common room of a tavern. The least she could do was seek a private parlour where a woman might sit respectably.
He had suspected this from the moment he received the letter that very morning. He had been at the farm, arranging an early morning delivery for their father, and had intercepted the messenger. As soon as he noticed her lodgings were in a tavern, he had saddled up his horse and ridden off as fast as he could go, dropping the letter into his father’s surprised hands. There was no way Pegram would even contemplate any risk to his sister, not since what had happened to her. Unable to articulate what he felt, he turned his head towards her, with a look of contempt.
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