“Evil of me, Hector. My reputation dogs me even yet!”
“Forgi’e me, lad, forgi’e me! And ... O John, you would actually marry a—a serving-wench—you?”
“I!”
“And by heaven, I honour ye for’t! Doth she love ye?”
“Well, Hector, there are times when I am gravely doubtful ... yesterday, for instance, she called me ‘John’ for the first time!”
“An’ blushed when she said it, lad?”
“Like a rose, Hector!”
“’Twas a good sign, sure?”
“Aye—in any maid but Rose. Thus when Rose, blushing rosily as Rose should, calleth me ‘John,’ my assurance shakes and I grow doubtful.”