"Names are as easy given as—as kisses!" she retorted. "As for Cydaria, my lord says it is a name out of a play."
All this while we had stood at the window, watching Cydaria's light feet trip across the meadow, and her bonnet swing wantonly in her hand. But now Cydaria disappeared among the trunks of the beech trees.
"See, she has gone," said I in a whisper. "She is gone, Mistress Barbara."
Barbara understood what I would say, but she was resolved to show me no gentleness. The soft tones of my voice had been for her, but she would not accept their homage.
"You need not sigh for that before my face," said she. "And yet, sigh if you will. What is it to me? But she is not gone far, and, doubtless, will not run too fast when you pursue."
"When you are in London," said I, "you will think with remorse how ill you used me."
"I shall never think of you at all. Do you forget that there are gentlemen of wit and breeding at the Court?"
"The devil fly away with every one of them!" cried I suddenly, not knowing then how well the better part of them would match their escort.
Barbara turned to me; there was a gleam of triumph in the depths of her dark eyes.
"Perhaps when you hear of me at Court," she cried, "you'll be sorry to think how——"