Of course, it was decided they must dance Sir Roger once more and, that duty accomplished, it was discovered that Anthony Clare and Margery had vanished. Of course everybody wondered where they could have gone, and when they returned in time to take a last sip at the spiced ale, it was noticed that Margery hung back in the shadows with a melancholy expression of countenance that made her companions nudge each other with wise looks.
Soon word came that the horses were saddled and waiting. Good-byes were murmured, and many a promise to come again was faithfully sworn and many a kiss given and taken. The ousted yokels held each a soil-stained hand for their genteel rivals to mount from. The maids stood huddled in the flickering light of the open barn-door; Farmer Hogbin bellowed a last farewell which was thunderously echoed by the Lieutenant, as with flushed faces and half-regretful memories, the horsemen cantered towards Curtain Wells under a sailing moon.
Clare rode by Charles to hear the judgment of Paris upon his tatterdemalion Venus.
"I'd liefer for her sake that you were overseas next barley-harvest," said Charles shortly.
"Plague on the man, what a cold stream it is!"
"My excellent Tony, your Blowzabella will be happier mating on a straw pallet with Hodge than living under your protection in London."
"She would see the world."
"Pshaw! her world is a garden of gillyflowers. She was never meant to be pushed out of sight for an importunate visitor."
"Like a spent primrose fit only for the bonfire."