Sriva, that was by, put forth a hand to stroke them. “Truly,” she said, “I love them well, thy goshawks. They be stout and kingly.” And she laughed and said, “Truly to-day I look not lower than on a King.” “Thou mayst look on me, then,” said Laxus, “albeit I bear not my crown i’ the field.” “’Tis therefore I’ll mark thee not,” said she. Laxus said to Prezmyra, “Wilt thou not praise my hawks, O Queen?” “I praise them,” answered she, “circumspectly. For methinks they fit thy temper better than mine. These be good hawks, my lord, for flying at the bush. I am for the high mountee.” Her step-son Heming, black-browed and sullen-eyed, laughed in his throat, knowing she mocked and thought on Demonland. Meanwhile Corinius, mounted on a great white liard like silver with black ear-tips, mane, and tail, and all four feet black as coal, drew up to the Lady Sriva and spoke with her apart, saying secretly so that none but she might hear, “Next time thou shalt not carry it so, but I will have thee when and where I would. Thou mayst gull the Devil with thy perfidiousness, but not me a second time, thou lying cozening vixen.” She answered softly, “Beastly man, I did perform the very article of mine oath, and left thee an open door last night. If thou didst look to find me within, that were beyond aught I promised. And know for that I’ll seek a greater than thou, and a nicer to my liking: one less ready to swap each kitchen slut on the lips. I know thy practice, my lord, and thy conditions.” His face flamed red. “Were that my custom, I’d now amend it. Thou art so true a runt of their same litter, they shall all be loathly to me as thou art loathly.” “Mew!” said she, “wittily spoke, i’ faith; and right in the manner of a common horse-boy. Which indeed thou art.” Corinius struck spurs into his horse so that it bounded aloft; then cried out and said to Prezmyra, “Incomparable lady, I shall show thee my new horse, what rounds, what bounds, what stop he makes i’ the full course of the gallop galliard.” And therewith, trotting up to her, made his horse fetch a close turn in a flying manner upon one foot, and so away, rising to a racking pace, an amble, and thence after some double turns returning at the gallop and coming to a full stop by Prezmyra. “’Tis very pretty, my lord,” said she. “Yet I would not be thy horse.” “So, madam?” he cried. “Thy reason?” “Why,” said she, “were I the most temperate, strongest, and of the gentlest nature i’ the world, of the heat of the ginger, most swift to all high curvets and caprioles, I’d fear my crest should fall i’ the end, tired with thy spur-galling.” Whereat the Lady Sriva fell a-laughing.