er. With a lift of the hand
that indicated and saluted the prospect, he said, smoothly, "You have
a very gracious garden, lady."

Mirth shone discreetly in Brilliana's eyes as she gave the Puritan a
bow for his praise. The Cavalier, a viola da gamba of anger, pegged
his string of bluster tighter.

"Did not the fellow hear me?" he cried, and this time his noise won
him a moment of attention. Evander gave him a glance, and then,
returning to Brilliana, said, with a manner of amused contempt, "You
have a very ungracious gardener."

Sir Blaise's pink face purpled; Sir Blaise's hand swung to the hilt
of his sword. Evander seemed to have forgotten his existence and to
await quietly any further favor of speech from Brilliana. My Lady
Mischief, much diverted, judged it time to intervene.

"Lordamercy!" she cried, as she rose from her seat and moved a little
way towards Sir Blaise. "Let me bring you acquainted."

The Cavalier caught her hand and stayed her before she could speak
his name.

"Wait, wait," he whispered. "Watch me roast him."

He swung away from her and swaggered towards Evander. "Tell me,
solemn sir," he questioned, "have you heard of one Sir Blaise
Mickleton?"

"I have heard of him," Evander answered. His tranquil indifference to
Sir Blaise's bearing, to Sir Blaise's splendor of apparel, pricked
the knight like a sting. He tried to change the sum of his irritation
into the small money of wit.

"You have never heard that he snuffled through his nose, turned up
his eyes, mewed psalms and canticles, and dubbed himself by some such
name as Fight-the-Good-Fight-of-Faith, yea, verily?"

Sir Blaise talked with the drawling whine which he assumed to be the
familiar intonation of all Puritan speech. Like many another
humorless fellow, he prided himself upon a gift of mimicry signally
denied to him. Even Brilliana's detestation of the Puritan party
could not compel her to admire her neighbor's performance. Evander's
face showed no sign of recognition of Sir Blaise's impertinence as he
answered:

"No, truly, but I have heard some talk of a swaggering braggart,
prodigal in valiant promise, but very huckster in a pitiful
performance; in a word, a clown whose attempt to ape the courtier has
never veiled the clod."

Brilliana found it hard to restrain her laughter as she watched the
varying shades of fury float over Sir Blaise's broad face at each
successive clause of Evander's disdainful indictment. Yet she was