"What dreadful thing had he done, Martin?"
"Stared at you!" says I, and stopped; and glancing up, found her regarding me with look mighty strange.
"Did you mind so much?" she questioned.
"No whit, madam. Why should I?"
"Aye, why indeed!" says she and turns to her cooking again and I to my carving, yet in a little, hearing her gasp, I glanced up to find her nigh stifled with her laughter.
"Ha, why must ye laugh, madam?" I demanded.
"O Martin!" says she, "And must this poor man be whipped—and for a mere look? And you so fierce withal! I fear there be many men do merit whipping if this be sin so great."
"I see no reason in your laughter, my lady!" quoth I, scowling up at her.
"Because you have no gift of laughter, my lord!" says she, and turns her back on me.
Here I came nigh to tossing her half-finished hairpin into the fire; but seeing her turn her head, carved on for very shame.