"Women will be women," observed Martin, "and to the end of time
prefer unessentials to the essential. But I will endeavor to satisfy
you on the points you name.")


In the morning William said to his beloved:

"Now tell me something of yourself. How come you to be so masterful
a smith? Why do you live as a black Lad all the week and turn only
into a white Woman on Saturdays? Have you really got a Great-Aunt,
and where does she live? How old are you? Why were you so hard to
please about the shoeing of Pepper? And why, the better my shoes the
worse your temper? Why did you run away from me a week ago? Why did
you never tell me who you were? Why have you tormented me for a
whole month? What is your name?"

"Trust a man to ask questions!" said his beloved, laughing and
blushing. "Is it not enough that I am your beloved?"

"More than enough, yet not nearly enough," said the King, "for there
is nothing of yourself which you must not tell me in time, from the
moment when you first stole barley sugar behind your father's back,
down to that in which you first loved me."

"Then I had best begin at once," she smiled, "or a lifetime will not
be long enough. I am eighteen years old and my name is Viola. I was
born in Falmer, and my father was the best smith in all Sussex, and
because he had no other child he made me his bellows-boy, and in
time, as you know, taught me his trade. But he was, as you also
know, a stern master, and it was not until, on my sixteenth