"Dost wish to wed with Desire Minter, Myles?"
"Desire Minter! Has thy fever come back and turned thy brain, Bradford?"
"Nay, but wilt thou wed with her?"
"Not if there was no other woman upon earth. Dost catch my meaning, Will?"
"Ay, I fear me that I do."
"Fearest! Why, dost thou desire so monstrous a sacrifice to the common weal, as Winslow words it? If the wench must be wed there are men enow who are not of thy nearest friends, Bradford. And, besides, thou knowest I am to marry Priscilla Molines, and now I think on 't, 't is time to arrange it. I did but wait for the brig to be gone, but then the governor's death put all thought of marriage gear out of my head."
"Oh ay, I mind me now that thou didst speak of Priscilla. Hast ever spoken to her?"
"Not I. I have no skill in such matters, nor time, nor thought. I'll write her a cartel, I mean a letter of proposals"—
"But can she read? Not many of our women are so deeply learned."
"I know not, I hope not. The only woman I ever cared to speak to of love could do no more than sign her name and 't was enough."