Gaina. A prince is a prince,—and I'd say the same if my mistress were my own daughter.
Barca. And you a Christian!
Gaina. A Christian of Corinth, I'd have you know. There are Christians and Christians, please you! And for my mistress, dear heart, it would take more than marrying a prince to send her to—to——
Barca. Let it out.
Gaina. Hell, then,—if you want to bite ginger. And who but Banissat can stand between her father and that English Oswald—who is just plain devil and not an Englishman at all——
Barca. Devil? A knight of the Cross leading the army of the Lord to Jerusalem.
Gaina. Nobody but the devil, I tell you! And I wouldn't speak to him if I met him walking with Saint Peter, unless he showed me his bare feet with ten good toes on 'em. It might be all right for Peter, but a woman can't be too careful, and the master took me out of a good family in Corinth. And this Vairdelan who is no more a knight than I'm a lady—the next time he goes down the pass he will lose his way up again, or my head's a goose-egg, that's all!
Barca. Gently, Gaina. You were young once.
Gaina. Once? I've more hairs than wrinkles yet, which some can't say and tell the truth!
Barca. Tongue in! Here's the master. [Moves right]