"'Tis a description of a lady of the court?" Judith asked timidly.
"No, by heavens," he said, with warmth; "the bonniest of our English roses are they that grow in the country air!" and his glance of admiration was so open and undisguised, and the application of his words so obvious, that her eyes fell, and in spite of herself the color mounted to her cheeks. In her embarrassment she sought safety in the blue velvet satchel. She had contemplated some other way of introducing this latest writing of her father's; but now that had all fled from her brain. She knew that the town gentlemen were given to flattery; but then she was not accustomed to it. And she could not but swiftly surmise that he had written down these lines with the especial object of addressing them to her when he should have the chance.
"Good sir," said she, endeavoring to hide this brief embarrassment by assuming a merry air, "a fair exchange, they say, is no robbery. Methinks you will find something here that will outweigh good Master Browne's verses--in bulk, if not in merit."
He gazed in astonishment at the parcel of sheets she handed to him, and he but glanced at the first page when he exclaimed.
"Why, I have heard naught of this before."
"Nay, sir," said she, with a calm smile, "the infant is but young--but a few weeks, as I take it; it hath had but little chance of making a noise in the world as yet. Will you say what you think of it?"
But now he was busy reading. Then by and by she recollected something of the manner in which she had meant to introduce the play.
"You see, sir, my father hath many affairs on his hands; 'tis not all his time he can give to such things. And yet I have heard that they be well spoken of in London--if not by the wits, perchance, or by the court ladies, at least by the common people and the 'prentices. We in these parts have but little skill of learning; but--but methinks 'tis a pretty story--is it not, good sir?--and perchance as interesting as a speech from a goddess among the clouds?"
"In truth it is a rare invention," said he, but absently, for his whole and rapt attention was fixed on the sheets.
She, seeing him so absorbed, did not interfere further. She sat still and content--perhaps with a certain sedate triumph in her eyes. She listened to the rustling of the elms overhead, and watched the white clouds slowly crossing the blue, and the tawny-hued river lazily and noiselessly stealing by below the bushes. The corn-crake was silent now--there was not even that interruption; and when the bell in the church tower began to toll, it was so soft and faint and distant that she thought it most likely he would not even hear it. And at what point was he now? At the story of how the sweet Miranda came to grow up in exile? Or listening to Ariel's song? Or watching the prince approach this new wonder of the magic island? Her eyes were full of triumph. "Ben Jonson!" she had said.