"Good lack, dear Constance," she said, "I wish they would not show us such bright scenes and give us such gay moments, if they are both to be snatched away again the next minute. How heavy will the next week be, till we have forgotten all these gay feathers, and silks, and satins, and gold embroidery, and gentle speeches, and pleasant wit."
"Nay, I hope, Iola, that you did not have too many gentle speeches," replied her cousin, with a quiet smile; "for I saw somebody's head bent low, and caught the sound of words whispered rather than spoken, and perceived a little pink ear turned up to catch them all."
"Oh, my man was the most charming ever seen," answered Iola; "just fitted for my companion in a long ride through the forest, as thoughtless, as careless, as merry as myself; who will forget me as soon as I shall forget him, and no harm done to either. What was your man like, Constance? He seemed as gruff as a large church bell, and as stern as the statue of Moses breaking the tables."
"He was well enough for a man," answered Constance. "He might have been younger, and he might have been gentler in words; for his hair was grizzled grey, and he abused everybody roundly, from the king on his throne to the horseboy who saddled his beast. He was a gentleman notwithstanding, and courteous to me; and I have a strong fancy, dear Iola, that his heart is not as hard as his words, for I have read in some old book that hard sayings often go with soft doings."
"Ha, ha, say you so, Constance dear?" replied Iola; "then methinks you have been prying a little closely into the bosom of this Sir William Arden. Well, you are free, and can love where you list. I am like a poor popinjay tied to a stake, where every boy archer may bend his bow at me, and I do nothing but sit still and endure. I often wonder what this Lord Fulmer is like, my husband that is to be, God wot. I hope he is not a sour man with a black beard, and that he does not squint, and has not a high shoulder like the king, and has both his eyes of one colour; for I hate a wall-eyed horse, and it would be worse in a husband--unless one of them was blind, which would indeed be a comfort, as one could be sure of getting on the blind side of him."
"How your little tongue runs," said her cousin. "It is like a lapdog fresh let out into the fields, galloping hither and thither for pure idleness."
"Well, I will be merry whatever happens," answered Iola gaily. "'Tis the best way of meeting fate, Constance. You may be as grave and demure as a cat before the fire, or as sad and solemn as the ivy on an old tower. I will be as light as the lark upon the wing, and as cheerful as a bough of Christmas holly, garlanding a boar's head on a high festival; and she sang with a clear sweet voice, every note of which was full of gladness, some scraps of an old ballad very common in those days.
"Nay, ivy, nay,
It shall not be, I wis;
Let holly have the mastery,