human
We fight where the King needs us most—that is the Metcalf way,
gpt
If I asked you not to go? Of course, I care nothing either way. But suppose I asked you?
human
This goes white so far as I can guide it.
gpt
Ah, said Lady Ingilby.
human
The King should hear of you, sir, in days to come.
gpt
He—he does not care, and I would we were home in Yoredale, he and I. I was free to flout him there.
human
Never trust men, said Lady Ingilby, with great cheeriness.
gpt
He does not care, of course—no man does when the battle music sounds.
human
But he—he was glad to wear my kerchief.
gpt
It is the fashion among our Cavaliers. That is all. He would not care to take the field without a token that some poor gentlewoman was dying of heart-break for his wounds.
human
My own heart is sound,
gpt
Then don’t accuse it, child, by protests.
human
I’m so glad that he’s gone—so glad! She crossed to the window again, looked out on the sunlit street.
gpt
How drab the world is, she said pettishly.
human
There’ll be snow before night, I fancy; it grows chilly.
gpt
The world’s drab, assented Lady Ingilby.
human
What else does one expect at my years? And our six-foot Metcalf will forget you for the first pretty face he meets in York.
gpt
Is he so base? Tell me, is he so base?
human
No; he forgets—simply, he forgets. Men do.