“If to this one you will not listen, then hear another argument. Perchance I do not love you. Would you win a loveless bride?”
“Perchance you can learn of love, or if not, I have enough to serve for two.”
“By my faith! it should not be difficult with a man so honest and so well favoured. And yet—a further plea. My cousin Deleroy has cheated you” (here her face hardened), “and I think I am offered to you by my father in satisfaction of his honour, as men who have no gold offer a house or a horse to close a debt.”
“It is not so. I prayed you of your father. The loss, if loss there be, is but a chance of trade, such as I face every day. Still, I will be plain and tell you that I risked it with open eyes, expecting nothing less, that I might come near to you.”
Now she sat herself down in a chair, covering her face with her hands, and I saw from the trembling of her body that she was sobbing. While I wondered what to do, for the sight wrung me, she let fall her hands and there were tears upon her face.
“Shall I tell you all my story, you good, simple gentleman?” she asked.
“Nay, only two things. Are you the wife of some other man?”
“Not so, though perhaps—once I went near to it. What is the other question?”
“Do you love some other man so that your heart tells you it is not possible that you should ever love me?”
“No, I do not,” she answered almost fiercely, “but by the Rood! I hate one.”