"You
are as fair as ever, Edith."
"Oh, cold of speech! Surely you were bred for the cloisters, and
not for a lady's bower, Nigel. Had I asked such a question from
young Sir George Brocas or the Squire of Fernhurst, he would have
raved from here to Cosford. They are both more to my taste than
you are, Nigel."
"It is the worse for me, Edith," said Nigel ruefully.
"Nay, but you must not lose heart."
"Have I not already lost it?" said he.
"That is better," she cried, laughing. "You can be quick enough
when you choose, Master Malapert. But you are more fit to speak
of high and weary matters with my sister Mary. She will have none
of the prattle and courtesy of Sir George, and yet I love them
well. But tell me, Nigel, why do you come to Cosford to-night?"
"To bid you farewell."
"Me alone?"
"Nay, Edith, you and your sister Mary and the good knight your
father."
"Sir George would have said that he had come for me alone. Indeed
you are but a poor courtier beside him. But is it true, Nigel,
that you go to France?"
"Yes, Edith."
"It was so rumored after the King had been to Tilford. The story
goes that the King goes to France and you in his train. Is that
true?"
"Yes, Edith, it is true."
"Tell me, then, to what part you go, and when?"
"That, alas! I may not say."
"Oh, in sooth!" She tossed her fair head and rode onward in
silence, with compressed lips and angry eyes.
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