“Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy,” said the Earl, suffering her to prevail in the playful contest; “the jewels, and feathers, and silk, are more to them than the man whom they adorn—many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet scabbard.”
“But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl,” said his lady, as the cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him dressed as princes when they ride abroad; “thou art the good and well-tried steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet disdains, its outward ornaments. Do not think Amy can love thee better in this glorious garb, than she did when she gave her heart to him who wore the russet-brown cloak in the woods of Devon.”
“And thou too,” said the Earl, as gracefully and majestically he led his beautiful Countess towards the chair of state which was prepared for them both,—“thou too, my love, hast donned a dress which becomes thy rank, though it cannot improve thy beauty. What think’st thou of our court taste?”
The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as they passed it by, and then said, “I know not how it is, but I think not of my own person, while I look at the reflection of thine. Sit thou there,” she said, as they approached the chair of state, “like a thing for men to worship and to wonder at.”
“Ay, love,” said the Earl, “if thou wilt share my state with me.”
“Not so,” said the Countess; “I will sit on this footstool at thy feet, that I may spell over thy splen-
