"Troth, have you ne'er thought on't? If you were already married—but not to Sir Peregrine or any such kind of stockfish—might not your husband take you to his own house? or if he took you to your uncle's, what good were your father's claim upon you against your husband's?"
She looked at him timidly but sweetly, and trembled a little.
"What?" quoth she, with pretended gaiety. "Escape a husband by seeking a husband?"
"By accepting, not seeking, one—one less unfit—one that a maid might find to her liking."
"Why, in good sooth—I hope I am not a bold hussy for saying so—but rather than be bound to that odious Sir Peregrine, I think I would choose blindfold any husband that offered! And if he were, as you say, to my liking—"
"I said he might be to the liking of some maids. Have you ever considered what manner of man your fancy might rest upon?"
He covered the seriousness of the question with a feigned merriment. She, too, wore a smile; in her confusion, she fingered the low-hanging apple-blossoms, and avoided his eyes, but, watching him furtively, she noticed how familiarly his hand reposed on his sword-hilt; ere she bethought herself, she answered:
"Oh, a man of good wit, a better wit than face, and yet a middling good face, too; a man that could handle a rapier well—yes, certainly a good swordman; and as for—"
A voice was suddenly heard from the dining-room window aloft: