"Good my persuasion!" she rippled. "See how thou art shaken into thyself, man. What! No phrase of lackadaisical rapture! Why, I looked to see thee invert thine incorporate satin in an airy rhapsody--upheld and kept unruffled by some fantastical twist of thine imagination. Oh, Fancy--Fancy! Couldst not e'en sustain thy knight cap-a-pie!" and she laughed the harder as she saw her lover's face grow longer and longer. "Why, mistress," he began, soberly, "these quips and jests ill become a lover's tryst, methinks----" "As ill as paint and scent and ear-rings--as foppish attire and fantastical phrases do become an honest lover," said Phoebe, indignantly. "Dost think that Mary Burton prizes these weary labyrinthine sentences--all hay and wool, like the monstrous swelling of trunk hose? Far better can I read in Master Lilly's books. Thinkest thou I came hither to smell civet? Nay--I love better the honest odor of cabbages in mine aunt's kitchen! And all this finery--this lace--this satin and this pearl embroidery----" "In God His name!" the knight broke in, stamping his foot. "Dost take me for a little half-weaned knave, that I'll learn how to dress me of a woman? An you like not my speech, mistress----" Phoebe cut him short, putting her hand on his mouth. Then she leaned her shoulder against a tree, and looking up saucily into his face: "Now, don't get mad!" she said. "Mad--mad!" said Sir Guy, with a puzzled look. "An this be madness, mistress, then is her Majesty's whole court a madhouse." "Well, young man," Phoebe replied, with her prim New England manner, "if you want to marry me, you'll have to come and live in a country where they don't have queens, and you'll work in your shirt-sleeves like an honest man. You might just's well understand that first as last." The knight moved back a step, with an injured expression on his face. "Nay, then," he said, "an thou mock me with uncouth phrases, Mary, I'd best be going." "Perhaps you'd better, Guy." With a reproachful glance, but holding his head proudly, the young man mounted his horse. "He hath a noble air on horseback," Phoebe said to herself, and she smiled. The young man saw the smile and took courage. He urged his horse forward to her side. "Mary!" he exclaimed, tenderly. "Fare thee well!" she replied, coolly, and turned her back. He bit his lip, clinched his hand, and without another word, struck fiercely with his spurs. With a snort of pain, the horse bounded forward, and Phoebe found herself alone in the grove. She gazed wistfully after the horseman and clasped her hands in silence for a few moments. Then, at thought of the letter she knew he was soon to write--the letter she had often seen in the carved box--she smiled again and, patting her skirts, stepped forth merrily from the edge of the grove. "After all, 'twill teach the silly lad better manners!" she said. Scarcely had she reached the highway again when she heard a man's voice calling in hearty tones.