“Thou’rt a fairy elf! Take me down, child.”
“As for fighting, aunt——”
“Thou couldst not, wouldst not, thou’rt too maidenly, too tender, too gentle ... take me down!”
“But indeed, aunt, you know I can fence better than most men—aye, as well as Sir John Dering himself, I’ll wager.”
“That wretch! Pray lift me down, Herminia, dear.”
“’Faith, aunt, perched so, you look like a girl o’ fifteen!”
“And I’m woman of forty-five——”
“With scarce a white hair and never a wrinkle!”
“Indeed, child, I can feel ’em growing as I sit here, so prithee, my sweet love, lift me——”