“When are you going?” I asked.
“That concerns myself,” said Peter. “But since we be alone, Humphrey Dexter, let me say to you one thing. Whether I go or stay, know that I desire you hold no converse with my mistress’ daughter, and that for a very sufficient reason. She is promised to me.”
I laughed at this.
“Since when?” I asked.
“That too concerneth me,” said Peter, who liked not my mirth. “I shall wed her anon; and till then I would have her kept clear of your company.”
“Pass the mug, Peter Stoupe, and cease your funning. The day sweet Jeannette weds with you, I will saddle the horse shall carry you to church. Till then, if I catch so much as her name on your foul lips, I will drop you, feet uppermost, in the mud of Fleet Ditch. So make a bargain of it.”
He turned green at that, for he guessed I meant what I said.
“What?” began he; “you who ruined my master, and robbed—”
Here I sprang to my feet, and he stopped short.
“Robbed whom?” demanded I.