He could not very well resist such a direct appeal, but he took his seat beside her unwillingly enough.
"I hear, Sir Edward," confidentially began the dame, "that in a month you are to wed Mistress Dorothy Vernon; is that so?"
"It is," he replied, curtly.
"You are a lucky knight, then," she replied, "for, except my Isabel,
Dorothy is the fairest maiden I have ever clapt eyes on. But then,
Isabel, forsooth, is not so rich. We cannot all be Vernons, you know,
though if everybody had their deserts we—"
"Yes, I trow that she is rich and fair; but for neither of these do I care so much as her love," gallantly responded Stanley.
"Tut, now, Sir Edward," pursued his tormentor, "both you and I know full well that people marry for riches and rank, not for beauty. You marry for riches, I suppose, and she for rank. Now, sir knight, am I not right?" she asked triumphantly.
"Nay, my lady, you are far from it. You will excuse me now, I am sure; I am promised a dance with Dorothy shortly," and he got up and departed, glad to get away so quickly, and deaf to her entreaty to return.
His temper was ruffled, and he walked away to look for his partner, to lose his irritation in the sunshine of her company.
But Dorothy was nowhere to be seen.
He paced up and down the length of the room, chafing at her absence, and peering into every corner and recess as he wandered along. The dining-room and banqueting-hall were searched equally in vain, and at last the baffled lover concluded that she had retired for a little rest.