“That he put you on your honour.”
“No, that he did not. My honour’s not for such as him.”
“No, indeed. It flies at higher game. Well, he must keep you still, for a while.”
“Not he!”
“He must, I say. You must bide here till I can arrange of your fortunes. I’m but by the road, and will come again anon. Never fear; I’ll see you well provided. But you must lie close for the moment, if you would have my help.”
“In what?”
“To see the King, of course.”
She clapped her little hands in artless glee.
“Shall I see the King?”
“See him and sing to him, perhaps. In the meantime you’re mine to dispose of. Is it a bargain?” He rose, and she with him, her expression downcast and demure. “That’s well,” said he. “Give me a buss, Mrs. Moll, in token of our understanding.”