"Troth now, my first wife had just such another finger," said the knight. "I know not which to take; 'tis a pity both cannot be used."
Master Holyday was suddenly inspired with an impish thought, the very conception of which brought courage with it.
"An you please, Master Etheridge," he said, "the lady I wish to marry hath such another hand, in size, as your sweet daughter here can boast of. It were a pleasant thing, now, an I might buy one of these rings."
"Nay, by my knighthood," quoth Sir Peregrine, with a burst of that magniloquent generosity which went with his vanity, "buy it thou shalt not, but have it thou shalt. I buy 'em both, father; see 'em both put down to me. Here, young sir; and let thy bride know what 'tis the mate of." And he tossed one of the rings to Holyday, not graciously, but as one throws a bone to a dog.
"She will hold herself much honoured," said Holyday, coolly, picking up the little circlet from among the rushes, and inwardly glad to make a fool of such a supercilious old fop. Noticing that Millicent observed his irony and approved it, he went on: "Of a truth, though, I am somewhat beforehand in the matter; the maid's consent yet hangs fire." And he cast her a look which he thought would set her thinking.
"Troth, then," said the goldsmith, good-humouredly, "you go the right way to carry her by storm. Show her the wedding-ring, and tell her 'tis for her, and I warrant all's done."
"I will take your counsel," said Holyday, glancing from the ring to Millicent's finger. "She might be afflicted with a worse husband, I tell her."
"Ay, young man," put in Sir Peregrine, for the sake of showing his wisdom in such matters, "be not afraid to sound your own praises to her. If you do not so yourself, who will?—except, of course, your merits were such as show without being spoken for." The knight unconsciously glanced down at himself.