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“Yes, of course,” Cela replied resignedly and stiffly. Strains of obstinacy and pride urged her to disagree, but she had not the heart for it. Master Dick had a point, even if she did not wholly agree with taking in any “stray” that wandered through – like cats. Soon we’ll have a whole passel of them. But the thought lacked conviction. Also, Cela was not by nature argumentative and there was no point in protesting too much the way Dick chose to run his inn, and truly Jack was not doing much harm – not that she wouldn’t still watch him like a hawk.
Even with all of this, however, Cela may still have chosen to disagree had it not been for Primrose and Will’s timely entrance. Oh, she felt a wretched fool, not for letting them overhear but for letting herself become so stressed out and carried away over nothing.
“Have some stew,” she said abruptly, turning and putting a full bowl down in front of the innkeeper.
“What?” asked Dick, temporarily lost by this switch in subject matter.
“You haven’t eaten yet. Have some stew,” she repeated, “and mushrooms.” She piled up a plate for him and set it down. For while she would never apologize outright, this was her way of saying that she would accept his judgment, whether she agreed with it or not. Perhaps Dick would recognize it as such, or perhaps he would simply be glad that his head cook was no longer shaking her spoon at him. She smiled in amusement at this; yes, that would be just like a man.
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