His hair fell in curls on either side from beneath a splendid murrey French hat, the crown of which was wound about with a gold cable, the brim being heavy with gold twist and spangles. His flat soft ruff, composed of many layers of lace, hung over a thick blue satin doublet, slashed with rose-colored taffeta and embroidered with pearls, the front of which was brought to a point hanging over the front of his hose in what was known as a peascod shape. The tight French hose was also of blue satin, vertically slashed with rose. His riding-boots were of soft brown Spanish leather and his stockings of pearl-gray silk. A pearl-gray mantle lined with rose-colored taffeta was fastened at the neck, under the ruff, and fell in elegant folds over his left arm, half concealing the hand resting upon the richly jewelled hilt of a sword whose scabbard was of black velvet. "God ild us!" Phoebe exclaimed in low tones. "What foppery have we here!" Then, slipping behind a tree, she clapped her hands. Guy turned his head and gazed about in wonder, for no one was visible. Phoebe puckered her lips and whistled softly twice. Then, as her lover darted forward in redoubled amazement, she stepped into view, and smiled demurely upon him with hands folded before her. The young knight leaped forward, and, dropping on one knee, carried her hand rapturously to his lips. "Now sink the orbed sun!" he exclaimed. "For behold a fairer cometh, whose love-darting eyes do slay the night, rendering bright day eternate!" Smiling roguishly down into his face, Phoebe shook her head and replied: "You are full of pretty phrases. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?" For an instant the young man was disconcerted. Then rising, he said: "Nay, from the rings regardant of thine eyes I learned my speech. What are golden rings to these?" "Why, how much better is thy speech when it ringeth true," said Phoebe. "Thy speech of greeting was conned with much pains from the cold book of prior calculation, and so I answered you from a poet's play. I would you loved me!" "Loved thee, oh, divine enchantress--too cruel-lovely captress of my dole-breathing heart!" "Tut--tut--tut!" she broke in, stamping her foot. "Thou dost it badly, Sir Guy. A truce to Euphuistic word-coining and phrase-shifting! Wilt show thy love--in all sadness, say!" "In any way--or sad or gay!" "Then prithee, good knight, stand on thy head by yonder tree." The cavalier stepped back and gazed into his lady's face as though he thought her mad. "Stand--on--my--head!" he exclaimed, slowly. Phoebe laughed merrily and clapped her hands.