"How is it you knew who I was, Lady Greensleeves?" he asked. "I think, if I had ever met you, I should have remembered you."
"Oh, lord! I would not for a thousand pound rub against all the scurvy stuff that's in your memory! I was in Paris Garden the day you killed the bear that got loose among the people, and that is how I learned who you were. And oft since then I have seen you hanging about tavern doors, as I have gone about the town in my coach. I think I have seen you at prison windows, hanging down a box for pennies, but I'm not sure."
This time Master Burney's laugh was upon the captain, and all joined in it.
"No doubt," said Ravenshaw; "and I think you once put a penny in the box, but when I drew it up I found it was a bad one."
"Troth, then," she said, "here's a good coin to make up for it." And she took up the smallest piece of gold from the pile in front of her, and threw it toward him. "Take it, and buy stale prunes to keep up your stale valour!"
"Nay," he retorted, throwing it back; "keep it, and buy stale paint to keep up your stale beauty!"
Master Burney's shout of mirth was cut short by a curse, and a slap in the face, both from Lady Greensleeves's lover, who had leaped to his feet and was the picture of fury. The struck man, with a loud roar of anger, sprang up instantly; and both had their rapiers in hand in a moment.
The two other gentlemen and the brunette rushed in to keep the angry gallants asunder; Lady Greensleeves sat like one helpless, and began to scream like a frightened child; the fiddlers broke off their tune of a sudden; the hound fled to the empty fireplace, and barked. The two opponents struggled fiercely to shake off the would-be peacemakers, and were for killing each other straightway.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," shouted Ravenshaw above the tumult; "not before ladies! not indoors! There be the fields behind the tavern, and a good moonlight."