“Oh, fie and no, sir! I’m no fine lady——”
“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Sir John fervently, and lowered his gaze to the face so near his own, which was immediately averted.
“Pray won’t your honour please tell me some more about myself?” she pleaded.
“As what, child?”
“What I am, what I do for a livin’—an’ all about me?”
“Why, then,” pursued Sir John, “you are maid to serve some prideful, painted creature——”
“Oh,’tis wonderful!” she murmured.
“Some haughty, ineffective she who perchance rails at thee, pinches and slaps thee, pulls thy pretty hair, envying thy sweet, fresh beauty.”
“Oh, ’tis like witchcraft!” she murmured in awestruck tones.
“And thou’rt in France, child, because she is here and travels belike to Paris.” Sir John turned to find her regarding him in speechless wonder.