Still laughing.—“Lud! Sir Percy! is’t you?” amazed.
“Aye!” returns he, more amazed than she, and standing off with dropped arms. “Whom did you think it was?”
“Another. My woman’s stupid, and when she described the gallant that she did, it matched a different sort of him than you, methinks. However, let’s be civil; the crops are good, the game likely to be, later; the King in health,—prithee have a chair.” And Peggy swept a second curtsy, motioning toward a seat.
“Peggy! Sweet lips! Joy of my soul, what’s it? Not one warm word for him who only lives for thee? Who’s counted every hour since he parted from you, eh?” The young man draws nearer to her, and bends upon his knee, venturing, as he does so, to take her hand in his.
“Since you spent your time a-counting the hours, Sir, pray you, how many hours have passed since in this same room we parted, now three months, three weeks, and a few days since?”
Sir Percy sprang to his feet.
“Zounds! Peggy, and you flout me so?”
“Zounds! Sir Percy, did not I write you—and very well you know writing’s not my forte,—that I’d be home o’-Thursday?”
“Aye, but I never got it until this morning; then did I put spurs and leave my uncle in the lurch to fly to you.”
“What, Sir! not get my letter? An idle, silly, and foolish excuse. I sent it by Bickers, and trustier man ne’er breathed. He vowed me he’d put it in your hands.”