but her
smile spoke whole volumes of victories; the panegyrics of a thousand
triumphs gleamed in her eyes. Evander read smile and gleam rightly.

"True, I failed," he admitted. "Yet I may not say that I am sorry,
for if I had not failed I should have lost a friend."

He looked admiringly at her, but Brilliana drew herself up stiffly
and regarded him coldly.

"You may be my kinsman without being my friend," she said, with a
sourness which had the effect of making Evander laugh like a boy.

"Why, lady," he protested, "it is not ten minutes since that you
proffered me your friendship."

"Did I so?" Brilliana asked, puckering her brows as if in doubt,
though she had not the least doubt upon the matter.

"Indeed, madam," said Evander, very earnestly, "friends for a
lifetime." Brilliana snapped contradiction.

"No, no; it was you who said that. I admit the friendship for three
days."

"And I assert the friendship of a lifetime," Evander persisted. His
voice and his eyes were very merry, but there came an unconquerable
gnawing at his heart that, in spite of the fair place and the fair
face and the sweet discourse, life for him meant no more than a space
of three days. Well, then, he would live his three days bravely,
brightly. He lifted his eyes to the lady.

"Are you of Master Amiens' school?" he asked--

"'Most friendship is feigning, most love is mere folly.'"

She made no reply to his question, but its matter surprised her and
prompted her to another.

"Do you go to Master Shakespeare's school?" she asked; and even as
she spoke she leaned forward to look at the book he had laid down and
to which, till that moment, she had paid no heed. She drew it towards
her and saw what it was.

"Why, here are his plays. Can you affect him when 'tis known that the
King loves him?"

"I would the King had no worse counsellors," Evander said, gravely.

Brilliana had lifted the big book onto her lap and was turning the
pages tenderly, pausing here and there with loving murmurs.

"Had I been a man," she said, softly, "I should have turned player
for the pleasure to speak such golden words."

Evander, watching her fair, lowered face under its crown of dark
hair, thought of all that Imogen might mean, or Rosalind or Juliet,
did each of these dear ones show on the stage like this lady. He gave
the odd thought form in speech.

"It is strange," he said, almost to himself, "that a Cavalier world
is content without wome