Herbert.
Why would you have me bring you?
Mary. Why? Ah, why!
Sooth, once I had a reason: now 'tis lost,—
Lost! Lost! Call out the bell-man.
Dickon [seriously]. Shall I so?
Herbert.
Nay, nay; that were a merriment indeed,
To cry us through the streets! [To Mary.] You riddling charm.
Mary.
A riddle, yet? You almost love me, then.
Herbert.
Almost?
Mary.
Because you cannot understand.
Alas, when all's unriddled, the charm goes.
Herbert.
Come, you're not melancholy?
Mary. Nay, are you?
But should Nan Hughes have seen us, and spoiled all—
Herbert.
How could she so?