“No!”
“Wherefore not, Penelope?”
“Because you’ll tak’ up wi’ a better thing!”
“What do you mean?”
“Love!”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John, and became thoughtful awhile. “Shall I succeed in my love, think ye?” he questioned at last.
“Only when Hope be dead.”
“Penelope,” said he, smiling as he leaned to touch her clasped hands, “how much of all this is pure guesswork?”
“Aye me,” she sighed, “you be tur’ble like your father afore ye——”
“My”—Sir John sat up and blinked—“my father, say you?”