A PUZZLING PURITAN
So deep was Evander in his book that he did not hear a lady’s footfalls on the grass. When the discomfited Sir Blaise had quitted the arena Brilliana held herself unseen and then swiftly sped back to the pleasaunce. She stood for some seconds on the threshold of a yew arch watching the reading man and wondering why it had pleased Providence to make a Puritan so personable and skilful, wondering why she of all women should take any interest either in his person or in his skill, wondering how long he would remain buried in his tiresome book unconscious of her presence. She decided that she would slip away and leave him ignorant of her coming, and having decided that, she coughed loudly, at which sound, of course, he turned round, saw her, and rose respectfully to his feet.
“I fear I trespass in your paradise,” he said, wistfully.
“My honor, no!” Brilliana cried, pretending to look about her anxiously. “But where is Sir Blaise? I hope you two did not quarrel.”
“No, no,” Evander protested; “we parted on clasped hands. Some pressing matter called him to his quarters.”
“Did you pay him apology for your equivocal wit?” Brilliana asked, demurely.
Evander answered gravely: “He professed himself satisfied.”
Brilliana feigned a cry of horror.
“I trust you did not eat your words.”
Evander shook his head.