Black’erchief Dick took the wine and set it by untasted, but retained the brown hand which was even smaller than his own and held it firmly.
“Mistress,” he said, and Anny thought she had never seen such bright merry eyes, “would you deem it an offence if I asked you your name?”
Anny smiled and curtseyed as she pulled away her hand.
“There be no more offence in asking my name than in holding my hand, sir,” she said. “’Tis Anny Farren, an you please so.”
“Anny, a good name and a simple,” said the Spaniard, choosing to ignore the first remark. “Now tell me, fair Anny,” he continued, “hast ever been told how beautiful thou art?”
The girl looked round. No one in the noisy company round the fire was listening to them and a gleam of mischief twinkled in her eyes before she dropped them as she turned again to the Spaniard.
“Nay, sir,” she said. “Neither has my mirror.”
“Then ’tis a right vile and lying thing, mistress,” said Dick, “for by my knife”—here he drew the slender thing from his chased silver belt and held it up to the light—“I never saw a comelier lass than thee.”
Anny looked at the knife curiously.
“’Tis a pretty weapon you have, sir,” she said innocently.