y 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.

"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 h