Oh, yes, I assured her. They might be counted. So, I fancy, might all love-in-the-village, if we knew its authentic essence.
"Goodness," said Miggy, meditatively, "then there's Christopha and Allen last winter, that I was their bridesmaid, and that rode off in the hills that way on their wedding night. I s'pose that was like something, if we only knew?"
I could well believe that that first adventure of the young husband and wife, of whom I shall tell you, was like something sweet and bright and long ago.
"And what," I said to Miggy abruptly, "about Peter?"
"Peter?" repeated Miggy.
Why not Peter?
She looked out the window at him.
"Why," she said, "but he's now. Peter's now. And he wears black clothes. And he's cutting grass...."
True for Peter, to all these impeachments. I told her that, in his day, Aucassin was now, too; and that he wore the clothes of his times, and that if he did not do the tasks nearest his hand, then Nicolete should not have loved him.