“Alas, no!” he answered. “I, like you, my lady, have preferred the town hitherto, and, heaven help me, was therewith fairly content! Which is matter for some wonder, for here were the Downs and here the Dumbrell——”
“That Aged Soul!” she added, smiling suddenly. “As gallant as any town beau, more dignified, and infinitely more sincere.”
“Rose child, I perceive thou hast also found eyes to see withal!”
“Is this so amazing, your honour?”
“Not so much as to behold a fine lady who honours Rusticity and finds joy in simple, homely things.”
“Indeed, sir, I do love the country, especially Sussex, for, as your honour may ha’ forgot, I was born here.”
“Then, if you will, I can show you other wonders. First, there is Dame Penelope Haryott, whom fools call a witch and rogues have sought to murder, ere now.”
“Murder!” exclaimed my lady, wrinkling her brow. “Oh! And yet surely witches be horrid creatures! Ha’n’t you read of ’em?... Leagued with all manner of evil spirits for the working of evil.... Ha’n’t you read what learned philosophers ha’ writ concerning’ em, sir?”
“Aye, I have.”