Morgen Fay went into her garden. Company was coming for supper. Best break a few more flowers. The flowers were June flowers, roses and yellow lilies, larkspur and pinks. They had the sunset hues. The owner of the garden broke them, tall herself as the lilies, white and vermeil like the roses. The sunset died out and the river stretched first pearl and then lead and then ebony. Morgen Fay had a little oaken room where boards were laid upon trestles and covered with a fringed cloth, and dishes and flasks and goblets set upon this. An old woman, large but light upon her feet, spread the table, Morgen helping. The old woman’s son kept the street door. He was a lazy lout but obedient, strong, too, of his fists and with a voice that could summon, if need were, not the dead but the watch. His name was Anthony, the old woman’s Ailsa, and Morgen Fay had known them since she was a young child. Now they were in her employ. Said Ailsa, “’Tis Somerville’s company?” “Yes. You know that. How many candles? You’d best bring three more.” “Yes, I will. Is that the gown you’re going to wear?” “Yes. It’s my best.” “It’s not the one you like the best--so ’t isn’t your best after all, is it? You don’t like Somerville as well as you did last Lady Day.” “What does it matter if I like him or don’t like him?” “Oh, you won’t keep him if you don’t like him! He’ll go as others have gone. ‘Keep!’ Lord! With most of blessed women it’s the other way ’round!” She brought the candles. “Do you like Master Bettany?” “I don’t know.” “He’s richer than the knight--just as he’s younger. I say that Somerville’s holding a light for his own house’s sacking!” “I say that I am tired. I like neither man nor woman, I nor thou.” “Are you cold? Will you have a little fire? Here, take wine!” “Joy from wine is falseness like the rest. Give it to me!” Morgen drank. “I’ll have just time to put on the other dress if you think it sets me better.” She went and put it on, returning to the oak room. Ailsa regarded results with eyes of a friendly critic. “It does! Montjoy knows how to choose--learned it, I reckon, in France!” She stood with her hands on her hips. She, too, had taken wine and now she loosed tongue, regarding all the time the younger woman with a selfish and unselfish affection, submitting to the wonder of her, but standing up for the right by prescription of half-ruling the wonder. Morgen had a voice of frankincense and music with a drop of clear oil. Ailsa had more of the oil and a humbler music. “Say you ‘Falseness?’ Say you ‘Coldness?’ Say you ‘Darkness!’ You’re a bright fool, Morgen-live-by-the-river!” “Granted I am a fool,” said Morgen, and kneeled on the window seat.