“Well,” said he, “who knows where we may be two years hence?”
“God knows, and we are in his hands.”
“So be it,” said Sir Ludar, crossing himself, to my grief. “Meanwhile, Humphrey, we are friends. I may claim your heart if not your hand?”
“You may—or,” here I blushed, “a share of it.”
“What mean you by that?” asked he, sharply. “What man holds the rest?”
“No man,” said I.
He laughed pleasantly at that.
“A woman? I have heard of that distemper before. It comes and goes, I’m told. Had it been a man, I should have been jealous.”
There was little sympathy in that for my sore heart, so I said no more.
“Come,” said he presently, “you shall come to my guardian’s. He lives at Richmond, and it is on our way to London. If he turn me off, you shall take me to London, and make a printer of me, if you please.”