“An augury of evil!” murmured Robin, under his breath.
“What dost thou with evil this morrow, Robin?” asked John, cheerily, coming into the room. “Be of good cheer, dear lad; the Lord sitteth above all auguries, and hath granted thee the desire of thine heart.”
Robin rose, and the light sprang to his eyes.
“Thekla Rose,” pursued John, “seeth no good cause why she should not change her name to Tremayne. But bide a minute, Robin, man; thou art not to be wed to-morrow morning. Mr Rose addeth a condition which I doubt not shall stick in thy throat.”
“What?” said Robin, turning round, for he was on his way to leave the room.
“But this,” said John, lightly, “that will soon be over. Ye are not to wed for three years.”
Robin’s face fell with a look as blank as though it had been thirty years.
“How now?” asked Dr Thorpe, coming in from the barber. “Sir Tristram looketh as woebegone as may lightly be. I am afeard the Princess Isoude hath been sore cruel.”
John told him the reason.
“And both be such ancient folk,” resumed he, “they are afeard to be dead and buried ere then. How now, Robin! take heart of grace, man! and make a virtue of necessity. Thou art neither seventy nor eighty, nor is Mistress Thekla within a month or twain of ninety. Good lack! a bit of a younker of nineteen, quotha, to be a-fretting and a-fuming to be let from wedding a smatchet of a lass of seventeen or so, until either have picked up from some whither a scrap of discretion on their green shoulders!”