"I did so myself," he innocently rambled on, "more than once." He had almost said "and once too many," but he paused with the words upon his lips, and the recollection that Lady Maude might not be far away decided him to leave the remark unexpressed.
"I have done so, too, once and for ever," exclaimed Manners, mustering up courage enough to break into the subject at a stroke. He felt that it must all come out now, and the sooner it was over the better pleased would he be; therefore he plunged headlong into it, hoping, perchance, to fire the baron with a little of the same enthusiasm with which he was himself possessed.
"It has been my good fortune," he continued boldly, "to fall deeply in love with your daughter, your Dorothy—and she has not spurned me."
"No, Doll is a rare girl, a bonnie girl, and a good one, too. I love her better than I love myself, and forsooth, young man, we value ourselves at no sorry figure neither."
"I wonder whoever saw her that did not love her," said the deeply-smitten swain sententiously.
They were both engaged in conversation now in common sympathy, and the eyes of the old knight sparkled with joy as he thought of his darling and her many charms.
"She is the light of my life," he replied. "See, there she goes, with her bewitching grace," and he caught hold of Manners and drew him into the recess of the oriel window and pointed out where Dorothy and her sister were talking together on the green.
"Margaret is to wed Sir Thomas Stanley this autumn, I hear," ventured the esquire.
"Yes—and Dorothy is to be wedded this winter also," replied the baron as he heard the partner of his joys pass again outside the door.
"This winter!" echoed Manners in blank dismay. "Dorothy to be wedded this winter! To whom, I pray?"