But Raleigh only laughed. He would tell him nothing about the house; only that it was a merchant’s house in a mercantile quarter--a very fine house, fitting to the position of such a civic dignitary as the late Sir John Medley--and that it was situated somewhere between Puddle Dock and London Bridge. Of course, said he, Master Middleton might easily, if he liked, and if he were minded to discard the advice of a friend, discover the house for himself, and present himself to its inmate in the ordinary way of civility; only, in that case, he would make bold to say, the enterprise would be robbed of all that romantic mystery which was ever a leading fascination in ladies’ eyes, and from poetry would be reduced to the dullest prose. Whereat Brion, seeing they were on ticklish ground, very wisely withdrew the suggestion, with the assurance that he had only made it from a desire to save the other trouble, and that, convinced now of the truth, he wholly deferred to a judgment which had all the shrewd experience of a master in the art of philandering to back it. ‘To the happy sequel!’ responded he, with a great bright sigh; and drained his own mug to the toast. ‘Is the patriot to be in the secret?’ asked Raleigh. Brion shook his head. ‘He hath never heard our names coupled by me. Thou art the only one who knows of her, Walter.’ He had been invited to that familiarity by the companionable soldier. Raleigh looked pleased. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I’ll not say I’m flattered till I’ve proved myself.’ ‘Walter’--his eyes desperately coaxed: ‘you’ll not tell me anything, I know.’ ‘Not a word.’ ‘Not of how she appeared to you?’ ‘She appeared to me walking on two feet, like any other woman.’ ‘Ah! but is she not beautiful?’ ‘Beauty, my friend’--he was drinking again, as if to avoid a direct encounter with the look which sought his--‘is in the eyes which perceive it.’ ‘Well, did not yours perceive it?’ ‘I am not in love with her. From the child we find chief beauty in those we love.’ ‘How cold you are.’ ‘Discreet.’ ‘How spoke she?’ ‘With her lips and tongue--in the English language.’ ‘There you are wrong. It is love’s own music.’ ‘It did not warble for me, i’faith.’ ‘Alack, you mean?’ ‘Alack, of course.’ ‘Well, I will question you no more.’ ‘I would not, for your mind’s peace, since you will get nothing. What! appraise another man’s mistress to his face? Not I. She is Joan Medley: it is all summed up in that.’