"Oh, noble name!" She bobbed a curtsy. "Full? I am full of nothing but fasting, aye," she sighed, and turned up her eyes—"fasting from all but our sacrament."
They were upon the ridge of the heath and Harry checked her, and stood looking away over the wide prospect of mist-veiled meadow and dim blue woods. She was beginning her mocking chatter again when he broke in with, "Ods life, ha' done!" and turned to look deep into her eyes. "There's mystery in this, and I think you see nothing of it."
"Why, yes, faith. If you were no mystery, should I want you? If you had discovered all of me, would you want me?"
"Bah, what do we know of living, you and I, or—or of love?"
She laughed, with a scrap of twisted song:
"Most living is feigning.
Most loving mere folly,
Then heigho the holly,
This life is most jolly."
He shrugged and marched her on again.
"Pray, sir, will you dine at home?" she said demurely.
Harry flushed. "I must go tell my father and all," he growled. "I'll be with you soon enough, madame wife."
"Oh brave! Dear sir, have with you. I must see Geoffrey's face."