“I give you good morrow, Master Innkeeper,” said Gervase in his frank and pleasant fashion.
“Good morrow to you, young man,” said the innkeeper cautiously.
“Do you care to buy a dagger with a hilt wrought curiously in silver?”
“That I do not,” said the innkeeper; “I would not care to buy anything except a halter for my wife.”
“What will it profit your wife,” asked Gervase, “if you provide her with a halter? You are not going to hang her, I hope.”
“Hang her! God bless me, no! It is simply that to-morrow I am going to lead her in her shift with a halter round her neck as far as Derby market-place and sell her to the highest bidder. Happen, young man, you don’t want a wife yourself?”
“What is the price you ask for her?”
“A gold angel will buy her, and she’s worth double the money.”
“But why do you part with her? Has she a fault in her temper, or is it that she is not as virtuously given as she might be?”
“No, her temper is excellent; and as for her virtue, the vicar of the parish will answer for that.”