Debora laughed merrily. "'Tis a pretty speech," she said, "an' of a fine London flavour." Then uneasily, "I would my brother came; 'tis marvellous unlike him to leave me so."
"I will tell thee somewhat," said Sherwood, after a moment's thought. "A party o' the players went off to 'The Castle Inn'—'tis hard by—an' I believe their intention was to drink success to the play. Possibly they will make short work and drink it in one bumper, but I cannot be sure—they may drink it in more."
"'Tis not like my brother to tarry thus," the girl answered. "I wonder at him greatly."
"Trouble nothing over it," said Sherwood; "indeed, he went against his will; they were an uproarious lot o' roisterers, and carried him off willy-nilly, fairly by main force, now I think on't. Perchance thou would'st rather I left thee alone, mademoiselle?" he ended, as by afterthought.
"'Twould be more seemly," she answered, the colour rising in her face.
"I do protest to that," said the man quickly. "And I found thee out—here alone—why, marry, so might another."
"An' why not another as well?" Debora replied, lifting her brows; "an' why not another full as well as thee, good Sir Romeo? There is no harm in a maid being here. But I would that Darby came," she added.
"We will give him license of five minutes longer," he returned. "Come tell me, what dost think o' the play?"
"'Tis a very wonder," said Debora; "more beautiful each time I see it." Then irrelevantly, "Dost really fancy in me so great a likeness to my brother?"
"Thou art like him truly, and yet no more like him than I am like—well, say the apothecary, though 'tis not a good instance."