I vexed myself that Denys
was not with us to prattle with them; he is so fond of women." ("Are you
fond of women, Denys?") And the reader opened two great violet eyes upon
him with gentle surprise.

Denys. "Ahem! he says so, she-comrade. By Hannibal's helmet, 'tis their
fault, not mine. They will have such soft voices, and white skins, and
sunny hair, and dark blue eyes, and--"

Margaret. (Reading suddenly.) "Which their affability I put to profit
thus. I asked them how they made shift to grow roses in yule? For know,
dear Margaret, that throughout Germany, the baser sort of lasses wear
for head-dress nought but a 'crantz,' or wreath of roses, encircling
their bare hair, as laurel Caesar's; and though of the worshipful,
scorned, yet is braver, I wist, to your eye and mine which painters be,
though sorry ones, than the gorgeous, uncouth, mechanical head-gear of
the time, and adorns, not hides her hair, that goodly ornament fitted
to her head by craft divine. So the good lasses, being questioned close,
did let me know, the rosebuds are cut in summer and laid then in great
clay-pots, thus ordered:--first bay salt, then a row of buds, and over
that row bay salt sprinkled; then, another row of buds placed crosswise;
for they say it is death to the buds to touch one another; and so on,
buds and salt in layers. Then each pot is covered and soldered tight,
and kept in cool cellar. And on Saturday night the master of the house,
or mistress, if master be none, opens a pot, and doles the rosebuds out
to every female in the house, high or low, withouten grudge; then
solders it up again. And such as of these buds would full-blown roses
make, put them in warm water a little space, or else in the stove, and
then with tiny brush and soft, wetted in Rhenish wine, do coax them till
they ope their folds. And some perfume them with rose-water. For, alack,
their smell it is fled with the summer; and only their fair bodyes lie
withouten soul, in tomb of clay, awaiting resurrection.

"And some with the roses and buds mix nutmegs gilded, but not by my good
will; for gold, brave in itself, cheek by jowl with roses, is but yellow
earth. And it does the eye's heart good to see these fair heads of hair
come, blooming with roses, over snowy roads, and by snow-capt hedges,
setting winter's beauty by the side of summer's glory. For what so
fair as winter's lilies, snow yclept, and what so brave as roses? And
shouldst have had a picture here, but f