paper."

"And ink makes a cross even of a kiss, that is very well known," said
Julia.

"Ah!" said I, "all men have eyes; few see. Most men have tongues:
there is but one Robin Herrick."

"I will tell you a secret," said Dianeme.

And as if a bird of the air had carried her voice, it seemed a hush
fell on sky and greenery.

"We are but fairy-money all," she said, "an envy to see. Take
us!--'tis all dry leaves in the hand. Herrick stole the honey, and the
bees he killed. Blow never so softly on the tinder, it flames--and
dies."

"I heard once," said Electra, with but a thought of pride, "that had I
lived a little, little earlier, I might have been the Duchess of
Malfi."

"I too, Flatterer," cried Julia, "I too--Desdemona slain by a
blackamoor. To some it is the cold hills and the valleys 'green and
sad,' and the sea-birds' wailing," she continued in a low, strange
voice, "and to some the glens of heather, and the mountain-brooks, and
the rowans. But, come to an end, what are we all? This man's eyes will
tell ye! I would give white and red, nectar and snow and roses, and
all the similes that ever were for--"