The last year had left time's mark on the young man. In youth these marks are generally an improvement, and before thirty, the years add more than they take away. It was hard to define the change which the passing months had brought to Romney, but where a year ago the passing stranger saw the lingering boyhood, to-day he marked the coming manhood. The mouth shut closer, the brows drew a little together as if set in a purpose known only to themselves. If the smile were rarer, it was also sweeter, for it had learned to show itself only when another smile appeared to call it forth. Just now it was playing freely about his lips as he watched the figure at the wheel. When two are alone together, and a third is present, his name is Love. Peggy's mood was merry, and her mouth had lost for the time the wistful sadness that had hung round it ever since her coming to Virginia. Now it curved into the old-time dimples at the corner as she tossed back and forth the refrain of an old song of which Romney, in teasing humor, had begun the first verse. He sang to the music of his lute and she to the accompaniment of her whirring wheel. [Illustration] With a mocking smile he thrummed and sang: "'Pray, what are women like unto? Believe me, and I'll tell you true: Wine, wine, women and wine, They are alike in rain or shine.'" Peggy bridled, and Romney, still smiling, went on,-- "'Woman's a witch who plies her charm As doth the wine to work man harm, And when she sees his heart is sore, She smiles and sparkles all the more.'" Peggy dropped her lashes, leaned a bit more over the wheel till the curls shaded the round of her cheek as she took up the word,-- "'It is not woman is the wine, But love, but love, oh, sweetheart mine! Drink deep, and drinking thou shalt prove How heart'ning is the draught of love.' Is't not a silly verse?" "Peggy! 'Tis a year last week since thou didst come to Romney." "Ay--" "And then we did forswear all talk of love for a twelvemonth. But the twelvemonth is ended. May I talk of it now?" Peggy colored rose-red. "Dost know what manner of thing love is?" Peggy looked up but sidewise, and so looking took in a glimpse of Mistress Huntoon, and she ran to her as to a refuge. "Come, thou dear hostess," she said, drawing her in at the wide door, "thou art just in time to answer a question of thy son's, 'What manner of thing is love?'"