“I’ve nothing to do with better and worse—I haven’t to judge for the
rest:
If other men are not better than I am, they are bad enough at the
best.”
When Ivo thought proper to see Kate approaching, he turned with an exclamation of hyperbolical admiration. He knew perfectly the type of woman with whom he had to deal. “Ah, it is den you, fair maid? You be fair widout dem, but much fairer wid de ear-rings, I you assure. Ah, if you had but a comely ouche at your t’roat, just dere,”—and Ivo laid a fat brown finger at the base of his own—“your beauty would be perfect—perfect!”
“Lack-a-day, I would I had!” responded silly Kate; “but ouches and such be not for the likes of me.”
“How? Say no such a ting! I know of one jewel, a ruby of de best, and de setting of pure gold, fit for a queen, dat might be had by de maid who would give herself one leetle pain to tell me only one leetle ting, dat should harm none; but you care not, I dare say, to trouble you-self so much.”
And Ivo thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle softly.
“Nay, now; do you?” said the bewitched fly, getting a little deeper into the web. “Good Master Packman, do of your grace tell me how a maid should earn that jewel?”
Ivo drew the brooch half out of his breast, so as just to allow Kate the least glance at it possible.
“Is that the jewel?” she asked, eagerly. “Eh, but it shineth well-nigh to match the sun himself! Come, now; what should I tell you? I’ll do aught to win it.”
Ivo came close to her, and spoke into her ear.
“Show me which is the prisoner’s window.”