As I sat there worshipping, enchanted, resentful, martyred,
alternately aching with loneliness and devotion, and at the same
time heartily detesting every man on whom she chanced to smile,
comes a sly and fragrant breath in my ear. And, turning, I discover
Lana perched on a step of the stairs above me, her mocking eyes
brilliant with unkind delight.
"Poor swain a-sighing!" said she. "Love is sure a thorny way,
Euan."
"Have a care for your own skirts then," said I ungraciously.
"My skirts!"
"Yours, Lanette. Your petticoat needs mending now."
"If love no more than rend my petticoat I ought to be content,"
she said coolly.
Silenced by her effrontery, which truly passed all bounds, I
merely glared at her, and presently she laughed outright.
"Broad-brim," said she, "I was not bor
