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The company walked in relative silence, and at Blanco started up a lively, pointless, chattering conversation, a conversation restricted entirely to himself. Lily and Posco listened, and Hal began to walk faster. Peony lengthened her stride almost to a run to keep up with him, and when they reached the corner of the Inn he began to run, and with a little gasp of surprise she followed him. When he came to the kitchen door he went in. Peony tried to smooth her somewhat ruffled skirts and said, 'Whatever are you doing, Hal?'
He looked desperately at her, the look of a little boy who knows he's done something wrong but saw no way to avoid it. He put a finger to his lips, and after a few moments they heard the loud voice of Blanco. 'Why, wherever have they gone? I'm sure they went this way! Why, what could have happened here? How could they have vanished?'
'Perhaps they went into the kitchen?' It was Posco's voice that suggested this.
'Impossible,' said Blanco, briskly dismissing the idea. 'Everybody knows that nobody is allowed to go into the kitchen except the Inn staff. Those who do - ' and his voice took on expression of mystery and dread ' - will regret it all their lives. So!' His voice returned to its usual jolly tone. 'Perhaps they went around the other corner. Let's go see!' Footsteps and voices alike slowly faded away, and Peony turned once again to Hal, her eyes demanding explanation.
'I'm sorry,' said he. 'I'm more than delighted to see your brothers, and to meet Miss Lily, but I was talking with you and I really must finish.'
'What more can be said? I tell you, Hal, I will not marry you until my father gives his consent. I've told you this nearly every day since you first asked me for my hand. I have not changed. True, I love you, but without my father's consent I will not and could not marry you. Please don't worry about it any further.'
'I can't help it,' said Hal miserably, and he opened the kitchen door. They stepped out into the sunshine again, but they went in the opposite direction that the others had gone. Peony walked in sorrowful silence at Hal's side, pitying him, as well as herself, with all her heart. He had not yet spoken in the beautiful manner he often did, but when he did he would be considered drunk by those more sensible and wiser hobbits. Oh, it was bitter that a hobbit could not appreciate beauty, and speak of the sunsets and rises, and of the water rippling in the pond, without everyone thinking he had taken too much to drink. What a foolish place the world was, that something so trivial as this would keep them apart!
But it did not matter much. She trusted that if it were meant for her to be his wife, some change would come across her father. She only hoped that no change would come upon Hal. She would never wish him to cease in those beautiful speeches he would make.
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