"Well," said Ravenshaw, with after-dinner joviality, "what's the business? What is it you would have me bully, or cozen, or persuade for you?"
"In plain words, a certain wench's consent to a meeting," was the reply.
"What the devil!" cried the captain, aflame. "Do you take me for a ring-carrier?"
Jerningham was silent a moment; then said:
"I take you for no better—and no worse—than any disbanded soldier that lives upon his wits about the town here."
"What others do, is not for me to be judged by. I am Ravenshaw."
"I never heard any reason why Ravenshaw should be thought more tender of women than his comrades are."
"Tender of women! A plague on 'em! I owe them nothing but injuries. 'Tis not that."
"What is it, then, offends you?"