"Assuredly not!" quoth he. "The which doth put me to great wonder you should come to forget her a while—"
"Forget her? I?"
"Aye, Martin—in the matter of the—the lady yonder—Madam Joanna—"
"Joanna!" I cried, clenching my fists. "That demon!"
"Ha—demon, is it?" quoth Adam, pinching his chin and eyeing me askance.
"Doth your love grow all sudden cold—"
"Love?" cried I. "Nay—my hate waxeth for thing so evil—she is a very devil—"
"Nay, Martin, she is a poor Spanish lady, exceeding comely and with a hand, a foot, an eye, a person of birth and breeding, a dainty lady indeed, yet of a marvellous sweet conversation and gentle deportment, and worthy any man's love. I do allow—"
"Man," cried I, "you do speak arrant folly—she is Joanna!"
"Why, true, Martin, true!" said Adam soothingly and eyeing me anxious-eyed. "She is the lady Joanna that you preserved from death and worse, it seems—"
"Says she so, Adam?"