e
proud eyes of Barbara Quinton; and the eyes were flashing in anger as
their owner turned away from--what I had not looked to see in Barbara's
company. This was another damsel, of lower stature and plumper figure,
dressed full as prettily as Barbara herself, and laughing with most
merry lips and under eyes that half hid themselves in an eclipse of
mirth. When Barbara saw me, she did not, as her custom was, feign not to
see me till I thrust my presence on her, but ran to me at once, crying
very indignantly, "Simon, who is this girl? She has dared to tell me
that my gown is of country make and hangs like an old smock on a
beanpole."

"Mistress Barbara," I answered, "who heeds the make of the gown when the
wearer is of divine make?" I was young then, and did not know that to
compliment herself at the expense of her apparel is not the best way to
please a woman.

"You are silly," said Barbara. "Who is she?"

"The girl," said I, crestfallen, "is, they tell me, from London, and she
lodges with her mother in your gardener's cottage. But I didn't look to
find her here in the avenue."

"You shall not again if I have my way," said Barbara. Then she added
abruptly and sharply, "Why do you look at her?"

Now, it was true that I was looking at the stranger, and on Barbara's
question I looked the harder.

"She is mighty pretty," said I. "Does she not seem so to you, Mistress
Barbara?" And, simple though I was, I spoke not altogether in
simplicity.

"Pretty?" echoed Barbara. "And pray what do you know of prettiness,
Master Simon?"

"What I have learnt at Quinton Manor," I answered, with a bow.

"That doesn't prove her pretty," retorted the angry lady.

"There's more than one way of it," said I discreetly, and I took a step
towards the visitor, who stood some ten yards from us, laughing still
and plucking a flower to pieces in her fingers.

"She isn't known to you?" asked Barbara, perceiving my movement.

"I can remedy that," said I, smiling.

Never since the world began had youth been a more faithful servant to
maid than I to Barbara Quinton. Yet because, if a man lie down, the best
of girls will set her pretty foot on his neck, and also from my love of
a thing that is new, I was thoroughly resolved to accost the gardener's
guest; and my purpose was not altered by Barbara's scornful toss of her
little head as she turned away.

"It is no more than civility," I protested, "to ask after her health,
for, coming from Lo