“It takes no tongue lashing from the likes of me to do that, Ben,” Molly said. “I must have seen your own tongue trip you up a thousand times.”
“A thousand! Zounds, a thousand, you say?”
“Well, at least a hundred, surely.”
“Look how she retreats from her first estimate,” he said to the others.
“But never from my first impression,” Molly added, to the amusement of the others.
“Tart,” said Dickens, with a wry grimace.
“What speech is this?” asked Molly, rounding on him, her eyes flashing.
“I said that I do believe your wit has grown more tart.”
She grimaced. “As yours has grown more stale.”
“Have a care,” said Smythe. “Another moment and they shall come to blows.”
“Oh, not I,” said Dickens, shaking his head emphatically. “I fear I may be overmatched.”
“You need fear no match for bluster, nor yet for arrogance,” said Molly.
“The lady would seem to bear you little love,” said Corwin to his friend.
“Bear you a mountain, sir,” she said to him, “then I assure you, ‘twould be as a kernel next to the love he bears for his own self.”
“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, Molly,” said Dickens, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I know you of old, and I see now you have not changed.”
“Aye, nor have you, and more’s the pity,” she said, as she picked up the empty tankards and departed.
Dickens looked after her and sighed. “Go as you will, Molly,” he said. “Keep your way, for I have done.”
“And well done, I should think,” said Corwin. “The lady’s temper is as fiery as her hair.”
“Ah, you noted that, did you?”
“I did, indeed. As I did also note that Master Leonardo has a daughter of surpassing beauty. I meant to ask you about her. Did you mark her when they left together in his carriage?”
Dickens shrugged. “I recall a dusky-looking wench with long, dark tresses, but beyond that, I did not mark her in any one particular. In truth, she did not strike me as any great beauty.”
“Then you must not have marked her well,” protested Corwin, “for to me she was the sweetest lady that ever I had looked on, a girl with a temperament as modest as your Molly’s is tempestuous.”
“Think you so?” He turned to the players with a smirk. “How do you like my friend here? So astute a judge of character and nature is he that he may deduce a lady’s temperament merely by observing how she sits inside a carriage! Faith, and I would swear that she did never utter but one word, modestly or otherwise, in the brief time that we saw her!”
“You may jest, Ben,” said Corwin, “but her demeanor was demure and sweet, ‘twas clear and evident to me. I tell you that I have never seen such a rare jewel.”
“You speak as if this were a jewel you would possess,” said Dickens.
“Indeed, I would, if there were a way to make her mine,” said Corwin, “for after seeing her, I do not believe that I could suffer to have any other man but me possess her.”
“This lady must be a jewel of great rarity, indeed, to make a man so covet the possession of her,” Smythe said.
“Had you but seen her, sir, then you would have had no doubt upon that score, despite what my friend Ben says. He sees no special virtue in any one woman, as he loves all the fair sex equally. Or so he claims.”
“Well, some better than others,” Dickens said, with a grin. “Or at least more often.”
“Again, you jest, but I remain in earnest,” Corwin said. “I was hoping that you would speak on my behalf to Master Leonardo.”