But the gardener has played me a trick; for now I have nothing to give in exchange for your name." "Nay, you have a very pretty nosegay in your hand," said she.

"I might be persuaded to barter my name for it." The nosegay that was in my hand I had gathered and brought for Barbara Quinton, and I still meant to use it as a peace-offering.

But Barbara had treated me harshly, and the stranger looked longingly at the nosegay.
"The gardener is a niggard with his flowers," she said with a coaxing smile.
"To confess the truth," said I, wavering in my purpose, "the nosegay was plucked for another." "It will smell the sweeter," she cried, with a laugh.

"Nothing gives flowers such a perfume." And she held out a wonderfully small hand towards my nosegay.
"Is that a London lesson ?" I asked, holding the flowers away from her grasp.
"It holds good in the country also, sir; wherever, indeed, there is a man to gather flowers and more than one lady who loves smelling them." "Well," said I, "the nosegay is yours at the price," and I held it out to her.
"The price?
What, you desire to know my name ?" "Unless, indeed, I may call you one of my own choosing," said I, with a glance that should have been irresistible.
"Would you use it in speaking of me to Mistress Barbara there?
No, I'll give you a name to call me by.

You may call me Cydaria." "Cydaria! A fine name!" "It is," said she carelessly, "as good as any other." "But is there no other to follow it ?" "When did a poet ask two names to head his sonnet?
And surely you wanted mine for a sonnet ?" "So be it, Cydaria," said I.
"So be it, Simon.