Anny blushed and withheld it from him.
“Nay, I would not dream of letting you trouble, sir,” she said. “I—I would rather carry it myself.”
Dick laughed.
“And I would rather carry it myself,” he said. “Faith, mistress, I warrant me we’ll have to bear it together.”
So saying he gaily caught hold of the handle nearest him and they walked on, he chatting merrily and she alternately laughing at his sallies, blushing, and smirking at his well-seasoned stories. They made strange contrast as they went, the skep swinging between them, the girl, her shabby green kirtle and torn black bodice, her heavy clogs sinking in the deep slushy mud of the road, and the Spaniard newly clothed in shining brocaded satin, with point-lace collar and ruffled cuffs, his fashionable short surcoat displaying a tucked embroidered shirt marvellously laundered; his cloak of the finest Amsterdam cloth a little open in the front showing the hilt of his famous knife as it hung in his gem-studded belt.
“Mistress, prithee why didst thou return my gifts yestere’en?” said Dick at last as they neared the Ship.
Anny, who had been waiting for this, took a deep breath.
“For what do you take me, sir?” she said, turning her big innocent eyes upon him.
Dick looked at her curiously. Was it possible that this little country drudge was different from all the other women he had met? He nearly dropped his side of the skep in his surprise.
“I crave thy pardon, mistress,” he said dazedly, and they walked on in silence till they reached the Ship.