“Defend a fashionable ruff,” she concluded, smiling, “against lawful shears. Yes, I suppose you would put it that way. ’Twas such a little thing—so trivial—a rapier against scissors! Oh, perhaps I am wrong”—her tone grew bantering to cover her recognition of a certain grim power in the man. “It may be you boast by the mere belittlement of your action. The most arrant braggadocio lies often in a mock-modest ‘It was naught,’ a self-depreciative silence. Thank you, then, sir, for the timely preservation of my ruff.” And she laughed, as the ripples under the bow were laughing, with a fairy music. Yet a tone of sadness, deep as the sea, underlay the feigned amusement in her voice. “The ruff was a flower’s calyx,” he said. “Nay, now, that ill-fits you, sir. I had not thought to find flattery from such an one.” She raised her eyebrows with unaccustomed archness, as though by look to maintain her usually perfect dignity, which her words, whether she would or no, seemed bent on frittering away. “Why, ’twas far better put by the villain who insulted me: ‘A bud’s outer petals fallen,’ or some such pretty speech. And you but steal his—” “Nay, madam, you know well it was—” “Oh, original, then—’tis little better. So readily conceived a metaphor has doubtless been made a hundred times concerning ruffs. You pay the best compliments with your sword. No, no; be not so crestfallen. We are but newly met, that’s all. You do not understand—forgive me, Master—how now, have I not yet learned your name?” “’Tis John Vytal.” “John Vytal,” she repeated, slowly. “It were easy to play on the name and show its meaning, but to them who’ve seen you I doubt not it needs no interpretation.” He would have questioned her then, but she hastened back to the first subject. “One thing piques my curiosity—the manner of your escape. Were the retainers of Sir Walter Raleigh so speedy to bring you succor?” “No, I saw them not. Once you had gone I stayed no longer.” “Stayed no longer?” She opened her large eyes very wide in surprise. “Nay.” “You speak as though you could have left at will.” “The will was there, madam.” “But the way—the way?” she demanded, impatiently. “And the way, too.” “Your brevity is badinage,” she declared, with an imperious toss of her head. “Your badinage cruelty,” he returned. “Oh, you are not all silence and swordsmanship,” she laughed, with a trace of the persistent raillery in her voice. “But I have asked you concerning your way of escape.” “From the cruelty?” “No.” The word came impatiently, as though she were wholly unaccustomed to resistance. “I see you parry in more ways than one.” And her fingers played about the hood-clasp beneath her chin. “Less hopefully in one way than another, Mistress Dare.”