Deb gave a tired little gesture. "Every one to their fancy—to me the world and all in it is a twice-told tale. I would not have more o' it—by choice." She rose and turned her face down toward the good Dame. "An' one come to ask for me—a—a player, one Master Sherwood of the Lord Chamberlain's Company—could'st thou—would'st thou bid him wait below i' the small parlour till I come?"
"Ay, truly," answered the woman, brightening. "Thou art heartily welcome to receive him there, Mistress Debora."
"Thank thee kindly. He hath business with me, but will not tarry long."
"I warrant many a grand gentleman would envy him that business," said the Dame, smiling.
Debora gave a little laugh—short and hard. Her eyes, of a blue that was almost black, shone like stars.
"Dost think so?" she said. "Nay, then, thou art a flatterer. I will to my room. My hair is roughened, is't not?"
"Thou art rarely beautiful as thou art; there be little rings o' curls about thy ears. I would not do aught to them. Thy face hath no colour, yet ne'er saw I thee more comely."
"Now, that is well," she answered. "That giveth my faint heart courage, an' marry! 'tis what I need. I would not look woe-begone, or of a cast-down countenance, not I! but would bear me bravely, an' there be cause. Go thou now, good Mistress Blossom; the faintness hath quite passed."
It seemed but a moment before Debora heard the Dame's voice again at the door.
"He hath come," she said, in far-reaching whisper fraught with burden of unrelieved curiosity.