"What! Must I not call thee sweetheart then, my dearest?"
"In truth I had as lief you did not," she answered curtly.
Robert eyed her a minute doubtfully: then he plunged boldly into the subject.
"See here, Prue, what is the matter; for what art thou so angry with me? An it be concerning Janie Medlar, 'tis mere foolishness. I met her down by the river, 'tis true, yet 'twas but by chance, and then I could not, in courtesy, refuse to walk home with her. Now could I? And the rose—she asked for it herself—I swear she did. But no more passed between us, save the merest—er—nothing whatever. 'Tis utter foolishness, Prue."
Prudence smiled to herself; she was learning secrets. But she answered coldly enough:
"I' faith, Master Robert, and what is it to me what passes betwixt you and Mistress Medlar? 'Tis much, indeed, if I am to call her rival—pale-faced chit."
"'Tis not that? Then in Heaven's name, Prue, what is it? What have I done?"
Prue turned and faced him:
"Ah, well said. What hast thou done, Master Robert? What hast thou done all thy life save sort wool and enter ledgers? And yet you would be one to call a maid 'sweetheart' and kiss her on the lips. I tell you, you must seek elsewhere then, Master Robert, I am not for such as you. I will have nought to do with any, save brave men, men proved by action, not swollen with boasts."
Robert groaned aloud.