“Have I been asleep, sir?”
“’Tis what I’m wondering, Rose,” he answered, seating himself opposite to her. “Howbeit you did it charmingly well. And now, since we are both awake, let us converse of your grandmother——”
“Pray when shall we reach Dieppe?” she demanded.
“Some time ’twixt now and dawn, if all goes well. But tell me of your grandmother.”
Instead of answering, she turned to stare out of the window, and became so intensely unconscious of him that Sir John yawned again, and subsided into lethargic silence. So they rumbled and jolted on their weary way until the grind of wheels and creak of the leathern springs grew unbearable.
“Are ye asleep again?” she demanded at last.
“Nay, m’ sweet creature,” he answered drowsily. “I ruminate upon thyself and myself and will make thee a prophecy, as thus: Within the week, Paris, aye, and London belike, will ring wi’ news of this my latest infamy; the modish world will have its ears tickled by scandalous tale of how the ‘Wicked Dering’ carried off to shameful purpose a poor, pretty, sweet and innocent serving-wench.”
“But how—how should any one know?” she questioned a little breathlessly.
“Alas, my Rose,” he sighed, “do I but sneeze the world hears on’t. I am dogged by a most unrelenting and scandal-mongering fate.”