A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. "Not my king's," returned Wood. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences.
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