“Ha’ you looked for me, sir?”
“These very many weary days, child.”
“Your honour expected me, then?”
“Hourly.”
“And now that you behold me?”
“Now, Rose, the sun shines, the birds sing, the scabious flowers are a-dance in their myriad hosts, and here standeth John Derwent to woo thee——”
“Well, go ’way!” snarled the Aged One fiercely. “Go ’way; us doan’t want ’ee no’ow, young man! Us be a-’arking to each other an’ doan’t want nobody—du us, my pretty? Lord, ’e du ha’ put me out! Wot was oi a-tellin’ ye, my dainty dear?”
“Of the day you and Sir Hector saved old Penelope the witch from being drowned ... but the sun is very hot, pray put your hat on again, Mr. Dumbrell! Nay, suffer me!” So saying, my lady took the well-brushed hat and set it upon the old, white head so gently and with such pretty grace that the Aged One leered at Sir John in chuckling triumph.
“Us doan’t want ’ee, young man, du us, my flower?”
“Indeed,” she laughed, “but you find wondrous pretty names for me——”