"I am in debt; I get more deeply so; and I can never recover myself, as my expenses increase, without wedding a rich wife. Sir Thomas Beckley, Baronet, cannot live for ever; and this would be a charming place for me to settle down to when I get middle-aged and stout, and have grown to care little for the court. "But then the lady! "Hah!" he sighed, "It is the way of the world. If rustic Mace, with her sweet beauty, had thrown herself at me, and dropped like a luscious fruit into my hands, I should have wearied of her in a week; but she is hard to reach so I strive the more; while Mistress Anne, here-- "Hah! I will not be too rash. Suppose I temporise, and am gentle and respectful by turns. Even if I marry Mace, there is no reason why I should scorn one who is nearly as fair. Besides which, if Master Culverin is in favour, then a little revenge upon him by tasting the sweet lips of his other love would not come amiss. Only I must be cautious, or I may go wrong. By Bacchus! here is the lady herself!" He touched the flank of his horse, for just then he caught sight of the gay colours of Mistress Anne's brocaded gown, where she sat upon a rustic seat, reading beneath a shady tree, of course sublimely ignorant of Sir Mark's approach, as she had been watching for him ever since the messenger had left; and, though her eyes were fixed upon her book, she had read no words since she had seen him pause upon the bridge, and her heart went fluttering beneath its hard belaced cage. Sir Mark did not know it, but the lady who sat before him in the old pleasaunce, not far from the moat, had come to precisely the same determination as himself. Could she win Gil she would, for his dashing life of adventure always made him seem quite a hero of romance; but, failing Gil, Sir Mark would do. So once more she determined to play a cautious waiting game of the two-strings-to-the-bow fashion; and, therefore, when Sir Mark leaped from the fat cob, sent by Sir Thomas by her special command, and approached her hat in hand, no stranger could possibly have imagined that there was such a place in the world as the Pool-house, where dwelt sweet Mace Cobbe, to whose greater attractions Sir Mark had yielded, and stayed away. The handsome courtier from town might have just returned from a visit to the foundry after but a few hours' absence so smiling and pleasant was his reception beneath the trees. "By Bacchus, she's a sensible girl after all," thought Sir Mark. "I may bring him to my knees yet," thought Mistress Anne; "and, if I do, I'll hold him till Gil Carr asks me to be his wife, and then--" A flash sped from her eye full of malicious glee, as, taking her hand once more _a la minuet_, Sir Mark led her up towards the house, where, well-schooled by his daughter, Sir Thomas squeezed his fat face into a smile, and declared he was glad to see his guest again. "Your inspection has taken you a long time, Sir Mark," he said.