A sudden trill of laughter from the doorway caused her to straighten herself sharply and trot to the fireplace with a guilty air.

Columbine entered, light of foot, her eyes brimful of mirth.  “You’re caught, Aunt Liza!  Yes, you’re caught!” she commented ungenerously.  “I know exactly what you were saying.  Shall I tell you?  No, p’raps I’d better not.  I’ll tell you what you looked like instead, shall I?  You looked exactly like that funny old speckled hen in the yard who always clucks such a lot.  And Rufus”—­she threw him a merry glance from which all resentment had wholly departed—­“Rufus looks—­and is—­just like a great red ox.”

“Don’t you be pert!” said Mrs. Peck, stooping stoutly over the fire.  “Get a duster and dust them plates!”

Columbine laughed again with her chin in the air.  She found a duster and occupied herself as desired.

Her eyes were upon her work.  Plainly she was not looking at Rufus, not apparently thinking of him.  But—­very suddenly—­without changing her attitude, she flashed him a swift glance.  He was looking straight at her, and in his blue eyes was an intense, deep glow as of flaming spirit.

Columbine’s look shot away from him with the rapidity of a swallow on the wing.  The colour deepened in her cheeks.

“P’raps he’s almost more like a prize bull,” she said meditatively.  “Perhaps he’s a Minotaur, Aunt Liza.  Do you think he is?”

“My dear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mrs. Peck, with a touch of acidity.

Columbine laughed a little.  “Do you know, Rufus?” she said.

She did not look at him with the question; there was a quivering dimple in her red cheek that came and went.

“I’d like to know,” said Rufus with simplicity.

“Would you, really?” Columbine polished the last plate vigorously and set it down.  “The Minotaur,” she said, in the tone of a schoolmistress delivering a lecture, “was a monster, half-bull, half-man, who lived in a place like the Spear Point Caves, and devoured young men and maidens.  You live nearer to the Caves than any one else, don’t you, Rufus?”

Again she ventured a darting glance at him.  His look was still upon her, but its fiery quality was less apparent.  He met the challenge with his slow, indulgent smile.

“Yes, I live there.  I don’t devour anybody.  I’m not—­that sort of monster.”

Columbine shook her head.  “I’m not so sure of that,” she said.  “But I dare say you’d tame.”

“P’raps you’d like to do it,” suggested Rufus.

It was his first direct overture, and Columbine, who had angled for it, experienced a thrill of triumph.  But she was swift to mask her satisfaction.  She tossed her head, and turned:  “Oh, I’ve no time to waste that way,” she said.  “You must do your own taming, Mr. Minotaur.  When you’re quite civilised, p’raps I’ll talk to you.”

She was gone with the words, carrying her plates with her.