So intent was she upon her thoughts that she did not notice the approach of Master Wilcox himself, walking with rapid step down the trim garden path; in fact he had been watching her for some minutes in a lover’s rapture, before she raised her eyes and noted his presence. Then he sprang eagerly to her side. "Ah! Prue; sweetheart," he cried, with outstretched arms. "I hoped I might chance on you here, and yet indeed I scarce dared to hope it." Prue slipped quickly aside from the proffered embrace. "Good-evening, Master Robert," she answered with a demure assumption of indifference. "And pray what may be your errand to me?" Robert’s hands fell to his side; he stared at her in amazement. "Why, Prue, my darling," he exclaimed. Prudence eyed him coldly. "’Tis a fine evening, Master Robert, and I was enjoying the silence and solitude of the garden. Prithee then—your errand?" Robert hesitated a moment, then he seated himself upon the bench beside her, and laid his hand on hers. "Come sweetheart, what is wrong?" he demanded resolutely. "Nought that I know of," she answered calmly, withdrawing her hand, "saving only that methinks you are somewhat free with your ’sweetheart’ and ’darling,’ Master Wilcox." "What! Must I not call thee sweetheart then, my dearest?" "In truth I had as lief you did not," she answered curtly. Robert eyed her a minute doubtfully: then he plunged boldly into the subject. "See here, Prue, what is the matter; for what art thou so angry with me? An it be concerning Janie Medlar, ’tis mere foolishness. I met her down by the river, ’tis true, yet ’twas but by chance, and then I could not, in courtesy, refuse to walk home with her. Now could I? And the rose—she asked for it herself—I swear she did. But no more passed between us, save the merest—er—nothing whatever. ’Tis utter foolishness, Prue." Prudence smiled to herself; she was learning secrets. But she answered coldly enough: "I’ faith, Master Robert, and what is it to me what passes betwixt you and Mistress Medlar? ’Tis much, indeed, if I am to call her rival—pale-faced chit." "’Tis not that? Then in Heaven’s name, Prue, what is it? What have I done?" Prue turned and faced him: "Ah, well said. What hast thou done, Master Robert? What hast thou done all thy life save sort wool and enter ledgers? And yet you would be one to call a maid ’sweetheart’ and kiss her on the lips. I tell you, you must seek elsewhere then, Master Robert, I am not for such as you. I will have nought to do with any, save brave men, men proved by action, not swollen with boasts." Robert groaned aloud. "Lord, Prue," he muttered; "not that all over again." "And wherefore not, Master Robert? Has a man nought to do save sit till the apples fall into his lap? Thinkest thou a girl can be wooed by words alone? I tell thee thou art mightily mistaken. If a maid be worthy of love she is worthy of winning, and winning by deeds, not by empty vows and foolish boastings."