“Rose!” he murmured.
“Here I be, sir,” she answered timidly. “An’ now what will your honour please to do wi’ me?”
Instinctively Sir John arose, but stood mumchance, for once in his life speechlessly perplexed; perceiving which, she continued demurely:
“If your honour is ready to go, I am.”
“To go?” he repeated. “Aye, but whither, child?”
“I ... I thought you would know best, sir,” she answered. “But wherever it be, the sooner we start the better.”
“What’s your hurry, Rose?”
“’Tis my mistress, sir—the moment she misses me, she’ll come a-galloping back to find me, y’ see; she do rely on me for her curls an’ complexion, your honour.”
“Ah,” murmured Sir John, “two highly necessary things to any woman o’ fashion! She will doubtless fly back in quest of ’em.”
“Then pray let us go, sir.”