“Verily, and being man, now came I seeking thee for Love's sweet sake yet, finding thee, know not how to speak thee. Alas, I do fear I am but sorry wooer!”
“Alas, Pertinax, I do fear thou art! Yet thou shalt learn, perchance. How—art dumb again, canst speak me no more?”
“Nought—save only this, thou art beyond all maids fair, Melissa!”
“Why, I do think thou'lt make a wooer some day mayhap, by study diligent. 'T will take long time and yet—I would not have thee learn too soon! And hast thought of me? A little?”
“I have borne thee ever within my heart.”
“And wherefore wilt love maid so lowly?”
“For that thou art thyself and thyself—Melissa. And O, I love thy voice!”
“My voice? And what more?”
“Thine eyes. Thy little, pretty feet. Thy scarlet mouth. Thy gentle, small hands. Thy hair. All of thee!”
“O,” she murmured a little breathlessly, “if thou dost so love me—woo me—a little!”