“But I told you also that I liked it not,” she answered archly.
“Ay, but, then, what if the prophecy held?” he said, still smiling. “I thought it safe to be on the winning side.”
“Alas, sir!” she exclaimed, “I fear that your heart has already too many scars; add not one only to your face.”
She had stepped back a little and was laughing and blushing, her face framed with the furs that muffled it. He thought her charming, and her wayward mood pleased his fancy.
“Ah, mistress!” he replied, “my heart has left my keeping, therefore I have only my face to scar, unless you give me back the other.”
Betty looked down demurely.
“Master Raby,” she said, “I have been with two queens, and both have warned me about the hearts of men. One called them ships that rode uneasy at their moorings, and the other, quicksands. After such goodly advice and wise discourse, verily, sir, I have my doubts about the matter also.”
“Then there is greater reason for you to listen to a truthful argument,” he answered, smiling; “these poor ladies manifestly have not found a faithful heart.”
“That is the very point of the matter,” Betty answered quickly; “are any faithful?”
“Ay, surely,” he answered more earnestly; “and mine—”