maddened by the secret belief that Venus' self could not so melt in love
as she if she would stoop to loving--as each one prayed she
might--himself. Her hands and feet, her neck, the slimness of her waist,
her mantling crimson and ivory white, her little ear, her scarlet lip,
the pearls between them and her long white throat, were perfection each
and all, and catalogued with oaths of rapture.

"She hath such beauties," one admirer said, "that a man must toast them
all and cannot drink to her as to a single woman. And she hath so many
that to slight none her servant must go from the table reeling."

There was but one thing connected with her which was not a weapon to her
hand, and this was, that she was not a fortune. Sir Jeoffry had drunk
and rioted until he had but little left. He had cut his timber and let
his estate go to rack, having, indeed, no money to keep it up. The great
Hall, which had once been a fine old place, was almost a ruin. Its
carved oak and noble rooms and galleries were all of its past splendours
that remained. All had been sold that could be sold, and all the outcome
had been spent. The county, indeed, wondered where Mistress Clorinda's
fine clothes came from, and knew full well why she was not taken to court
to kneel to the Queen. That she was waiting for this to make her match,
the envious were quite sure, and did not hesitate to whisper pretty
loudly.

The name of one man of rank and fortune after another was spoken of as
that of a suitor to her hand, but in some way it was discovered that she
refused them all. It was also known that they continued to worship her,
and that at any moment she could call even the best among them back. It
seemed that, while all the men were enamoured of her, there was not one
who could cure himself of his passion, however hopeless it might be.