"That is all settled," declared Hugh. "Have we not agreed that my errantry lies eastward into Outremer, to Constantinople and Byzantium, as well as to the Holy Land?"
She looked at him shyly, half-woman, half-child; underneath the soberness of maidenhood, the gaiety of childhood only half-suppressed.
"Dame Alicia says that men are prodigal of words, and loath to make them good," she answered.
"A plague on her for a sour old maid!" cried Hugh. "Here, there shall be no doubt of this! Wilt have me for your knight, Edith?"
Her cheeks reddened, her eyes suffused and dropped, at the note of mastery ringing in his voice.
"Yes, Hugh," she murmured so low he scarce could hear her above the thudding of hoofs on the leaf-mould.
"Then 'tis fitting you give me a badge to wear for you as my lady," he pressed.
"Art in earnest, Hugh?"
"Never was I more so."
"What—what shall it be?" she asked faintly.