"Neither of us is worth all that," suggested Neville, with an accent of conviction.
"That is certain," replied the lady, dryly; "so please not to do it."
He bade her set her mind at ease: they had both agreed to try and win her by peaceful arts.
"Then a pretty life mine will be!"
"Well, I think it will, till you decide."
"I could easily decide, if it were not for giving pain to—somebody."
"Oh, you can't help that. My sweet mistress, you are not the first that has had to choose between two worthy men. For, in sooth, I have nothing to say against my rival, neither. I know him better than I did: he is a very worthy gentleman, though he is damnably in my way."
"And you are a very noble one to say so."
"And you are one of those that make a man noble: I feel that petty arts are not the way to win you, and I scorn them. Sweet Mistress Kate, I adore you! You are the best and noblest, as well as the loveliest of women!"
"Oh, hush, Mr. Neville! I am a creature of clay,—and you are another,—and both of us coming home from a funeral. Do think of that."