“Then ye’re a heartless gomeril!”
“Venus be thanked!”
“Man, are ye gone gyte? John, this is no’ like ye. ’Tis unworthy! This smacks o’ pride an’ fulish pique!” Sir John flushed angrily and opened the lattice.
“Enough, Hector!” said he, glancing out into the street. “Let us converse of other things—my chaise should be here soon.”
“John,” continued Sir Hector in his most precise English, “thou’rt throwing away a great love, such a love as cometh to bless but few poor mortals, and then but once, for true love, John, being lightly scorned, cometh not again ... forbye, I read this in a book also!... But, O lad, ’tis in my mind you shall come to rue this bitterly—aye, to your last hour.”
“Why, then, pray heaven I live not overlong!”
Sir Hector stared into the coldly smiling face before him much as it had been the face of a stranger.
“Why, then, I’m by with ye, John!” sighed he. “Only this, either you are utterly heartless and selfish or....”
“Or, Hector?”