Then she began supposing things.
Suppose she should come tripping down the stairs some day (this would be sometime in the future, of course, when Lloyd's promise to her father was no longer binding) and should find Phil pacing the room with impatient strides because the maid of honor had gone off with Sir Feal to the opera or somewhere, in preference to him, on account of some misunderstanding.

"The little rift within the lute" would be making the best man's music mute, and now would be her time to play angel unawares again.
She would trip in lightly, humming a song perhaps, and finding him moody and downcast, would begin the conversation with some appropriate quotation.

In looking through the dictionary the day before, her eye had caught one from Shakespeare, which she had stored away in her memory to use on some future occasion.

Yes, that one would be very appropriate to begin the conversation.

She would go up to him and say, archly: "My lord leans wondrously to discontent.
His comfortable temper has forsook him." With that a smile would flit across his stern features, and presently he would be moved to confide in her, and she would encourage him.