“Well, perhaps he only jested.”
She moved, and, forgetting her sling again, put a fierce young hand on his sleeve. “You called her his fancy.”
“A man may fancy in a woman more or less than she desires. It may be her wit, when she’d give the world it were her face.”
“Is she witty, then?”
“No doubt he thinks so.”
“And ugly?”
“Betwixt and between.”
“You have seen her?”
“More or less.”
“I only asked of her face.”