"You London folk are earlier risers than we are led to think," she added.
"'Twill be the change of air makes Sir Rowland matutinal," said Diana, making a gallant recovery from her agitation.
"I vow," said he, "that I had grown matutinal earlier had I known what here awaited me." "Awaited you ?" quoth Diana, and tossed her head archly disdainful.

"La! Sir Rowland, your modesty will be the death of you." Archness became this lady of the sunny hair, tip-tilted nose, and complexion that outvied the apple-blossoms.

She was shorter by a half-head than her darker cousin, and made up in sprightliness what she lacked of Ruth's gentle dignity.

The pair were foils, each setting off the graces of the other.
"I protest I am foolish," answered Blake, a shade discomfited.

"But I want not for excuse.