ring, "I
beg you to spare my Hart."

But Harding, uttering a great laugh of pride and joy, caught her up
before she could kneel, saying, "Not even to me, my Proud Rosalind!"
And without even kissing her lips, he put her from him and knelt before
her, and kissed her feet.

("Will you be so good, Mistress Jane," said Martin, "as to sew on my
button?"

"I will not knot my thread, Master Pippin," said Jane, "till you have
snapped yours."

"It is snapped," said Martin. "The story is done."

Joscelyn: It is too much! it is TOO much! You do it on purpose!

Martin: Oh, Mistress Joscelyn! I never do anything on purpose. And
therefore I am always doing either too much or too little. But in what
have I exceeded? My story? I am sorry if it is too long.

Joscelyn: It was too short--and you are quibbling.

Martin: I?--But never mind. What more can I say? It is a fault, I know;
but as soon as my lovers understand each other I can see no further.

Joscelyn: There are a thousand things more you can say. Who this
Harding was, for one.

Joyce: And what he meant by saying his pennies had kept her, for
another.

Jennifer: And for what other purpose he had intended them.

Jessica: And you must describe all that happened at the last tourney.

Jane: And what about the ring and the girdle and the circlet and the
silver gown?

"I would so like to know," said little Joan, "if Harding and Rosalind
lived happily ever after. Please won't you tell us how it all ended?"

"Will women NEVER see what lies under their noses?" groaned Martin.
"Will they ALWAYS stare over a wall, and if they're not tall enough to
try to stare through it? Will they ONLY know that a thing has come to
its end when they see it making a new beginning? Why, after the first
kiss all tales start afresh, though they start on the second, which is
as different from the first as a garden rose from a wild one. Here have
I galloped you to a conclusion, and now you would set me ambling again."

"Then make up your mind to it," said Joscelyn, "and amble."

"Dear heaven!" went on Martin, "I begin to believe that when a woman is
being kissed she doesn't even notice it for thinking, How sweet it will
be when he kisses me next Tuesday fortnight!"

"Then get on to Tuesday fortnight," scolded Joscelyn, "if that be the
end."

"The end indeed!" said Martin. "On Tuesday fortnight, at the very
instant, the slippery creature is thinking, How delicious it was when
he kissed m