Then, of course, they all danced _Sir Roger de Coverley_, and drank more spiced ale while they rested. Somebody called on Charles for a song and he gave them one of his own which everybody agreed was much too serious for so jolly an occasion. Charles swore he had composed the tune himself, but everybody else vowed they had heard it before, and as for the words, there was not a trace of originality about them. However, his voice was pleasant enough as he sang: _"When in the dews of early morn My Chloe trips for may, Across the fields of springing corn I watch her pass, The fairest lass, That e'er was won with vows of love Upon a summer's day._ _"Ah! shame that I should leave thee, dear, And cross the roaring sea, That I should leave thee lonely here: Think not, sweetheart, Because we part And I to foreign lands do rove, Thou art less dear to me."_ Blewforth protested he had said good-bye with almost identical rhymes in every port of the two hemispheres, and moreover was not ashamed to confess as much. All the maids, however, grew quite tearful and vowed the evening was spoiled; indeed, they made such ado that Charles sang one of Mr. d'Urfey's ballads to cheer their spirits and succeeded in providing such a burst of laughter that the echo of it never died away during the rest of the evening. Of course, it was decided they must dance _Sir Roger_ once more and, that duty accomplished, it was discovered that Anthony Clare and Margery had vanished. Of course everybody wondered where they could have gone, and when they returned in time to take a last sip at the spiced ale, it was noticed that Margery hung back in the shadows with a melancholy expression of countenance that made her companions nudge each other with wise looks. Soon word came that the horses were saddled and waiting. Good-byes were murmured, and many a promise to come again was faithfully sworn and many a kiss given and taken. The ousted yokels held each a soil-stained hand for their genteel rivals to mount from. The maids stood huddled in the flickering light of the open barn-door; Farmer Hogbin bellowed a last farewell which was thunderously echoed by the Lieutenant, as with flushed faces and half-regretful memories, the horsemen cantered towards Curtain Wells under a sailing moon. Clare rode by Charles to hear the judgment of Paris upon his tatterdemalion Venus. "I'd liefer for her sake that you were overseas next barley-harvest," said Charles shortly. "Plague on the man, what a cold stream it is!" "My excellent Tony, your Blowzabella will be happier mating on a straw pallet with Hodge than living under your protection in London." "She would see the world." "Pshaw! her world is a garden of gillyflowers. She was never meant to be pushed out of sight for an importunate visitor." "She would return." "Like a spent primrose fit only for the bonfire." "I could secure an annuity for her."