“Indeed, and when will he be going again, Master Blueneck, for I was wishing to get me a piece of ribbon for my new kirtle-top?” said Mistress Pullen, her interest reviving.
The Spaniard looked at her, smiling. “Would you allow me to get it for you, señora?” he said in as exact imitation as he could manage of the Captain’s manner.
Mistress Amy looked at him in surprise.
“Why, surely you’re not going to Tiptree, Master Blueneck, are you?” she said.
“I would go to London, if you wished aught from thence, mistress,” said the sailor loftily.
Amy looked at him in admiration. “If only Joe would speak so,” she reflected.
The sailor, seeing the impression he had made, rose to his feet, narrowly escaping the chimney beam.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall ride to Tiptree and bring the fairest dame in the Island a ribbon.” He reached for his cap and coat, and buttoning them on, made for the door.
Amy followed him, thanking him. They exchanged farewells, Mistress Pullen blushingly consenting to a kiss, and parted.
As soon as his footsteps had died away, Mistress Pullen slipped a cloak over her head and moved to the window, through which she could see a faint patch of light about two hundred yards away.