"If I wed you, shall I be your slave, or my own mistress?"
"Oh, no—yes, I mean—as you will. You shall have all your own way," he said, glibly.
"No stint of gowns, free choice of what I shall wear, visits to London at my pleasure, my own time to go to the shops, milliners of my own choosing?"
"Yes, yes!"
"My own horses to ride, and a coach, and what maids I like, and what company I desire, and no company I don't desire, and all the days to be spent after my liking?"
"Yes, anything, everything!"
"Why, then, this marriage will not be such a bad thing. But I cannot think you love me, if you give me so many privileges."
"Oh," said he, petulantly, worn almost out of patience, "'tis the vehemence of my love makes me promise all rather than lose you!" At the same time, he said in his heart: "I shall be happier, the more such a plague keeps away from me!"
"How you knock your sword against things!" she complained. "One would say you were not used to it."
"'Tis my confusion in your presence," he answered, wearily. "I can use the sword well enough."