THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
fast. Meanwhile Eva still pined after the rose, thinking of it during the day, and dreaming hot dreams of it at night, and still, sleeping or waking her words were "Oh, if I could but smell the flower."
But who do you think was seen at Penhow one fine morning in May, when the shade began to be more pleasant than the sun, and the young beech-leaves shone like silver? Why none but the old lover Rupert de Launay, who had returned from over sea no richer than when he left Estrighoil, for he had not Sir Roger's wit, but was stuffed with all sorts of rubbish about glory and gentle deeds, and a fair fame; so you may be sure he found that most people took him at his word, and let him fight for these fine entities and abstractions without troubling such a mirror of chivalry with more salt than would keep his lance in rest and his arm strong. By some means he tickled Sir Roger in the right spot and obtained free quarters and a hearty welcome at Penhow, where he took the pages under his care and taught them the science of arms, and all manner of knightly courtesies, philosophies, and refinements, such as they would never have learned from Gilbert, who looked very grim when he heard the things that began to be spoken of at dinner and in the evening, for these niceties did not enter into his system of chivalry, which dealt less with theory than practice. As for Sir Roger he leant back in his high elbow-chair and laughed at all the high-flown nonsense and romantic methods with which Rupert seasoned his discourse; and as he laughed he asked himself
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