“But how if she refuse you?”
“I ha’n’t troubled to think o’ that.”
“Do you know her well?”
“So little that I have small doubts.”
“Indeed? And how if she utterly scorn and contemn you? How if she make a mock o’ you? How if she bid her servants drive you from her presence?”
“Don’t gnash your pretty teeth, child! And if she so despitefully use me then should I come a-seeking thee, my Rose——”
“Me?” she stammered. “You—you’d come—to me?”
“’Tis most certain!” he answered. “But not as the notorious Sir John; ’twould be as the meek, the gentle and reverent John Derwent I should woo until I won thee at last, sweet Rose o’ love. Do but think on me as John Derwent and I will begin e’en now, humbly, tenderly, as only John Derwent might woo thee, thou fragrant Innocency.”
“And what of—her—your enemy?”