"That skinflint! that palsied goat!" the marquis growled.
"He was wealthy," said Master Mervale. Then he sighed once more. "There seemed only you,--only you in all the world. A man might come to you in those far-off countries: a woman might not. I fled by night, my lord, by the aid of a waiting-woman; became a man by the aid of a tailor; and set out to find you by the aid of such impudence as I might muster. But luck did not travel with me. I followed you through Flanders, Italy, Spain,--always just too late; always finding the bird flown, the nest yet warm. Presently I heard you were become Marquis of Falmouth; then I gave up the quest."
"I would suggest," said the marquis, "that my name is Stephen;--but why, in the devil's name, should you give up a quest so laudable?"
"Stephen Allonby, my lord," said Master Mervale, sadly, "was not Marquis of Falmouth; as Marquis of Falmouth, you might look to mate with any woman short of the Queen."
"To tell you a secret," the marquis whispered, "I look to mate with one beside whom the Queen--not to speak treason--is but a lean-faced, yellow piece of affectation. I aim higher than royalty, heart's dearest,--aspiring to one beside whom empresses are but common hussies."
"And Ursula?" asked Master Mervale, gently.
"Holy Gregory!" cried the marquis, "I had forgot! Poor wench, poor wench! I must withdraw my suit warily,--firmly, of course, yet very kindlily, you understand, so as to grieve her no more than must be. Poor wench!--well, after all," he hopefully suggested, "there is yet Pevensey."
"O Stephen! Stephen!" Master Mervale murmured; "Why, there was never any other but Pevensey! For Ursula knows all,--knows there was never any more manhood in Master Mervale's disposition than might be gummed on with a play-actor's mustachios! Why, she is my cousin, Stephen,--my cousin and good friend, to whom I came at once on reaching England, to find you, favored by her father, pestering her with your suit, and the poor girl well-nigh at her wits' end because she might not have Pevensey. So," said Master Mervale, "we put our heads together, Stephen, as you observe."
"Indeed," my lord of Falmouth said, "it would seem that you two wenches have, between you, concocted a very pleasant comedy."
"It was not all a comedy," sighed Master Mervale,--"not all a comedy, Stephen, until to-day when you told Master Mervale the story of Katherine Beaufort. For I did not know--I could not know--"