'Oh yes, you do,' insisted Elfride.

'Perhaps, for your eyes.'

'What of them?--now, don't vex me by a light answer. What of my
eyes?'

'Oh, nothing to be mentioned. They are indifferently good.'

'Come, Stephen, I won't have that. What did you love me for?'

'It might have been for your mouth?'

'Well, what about my mouth?'

'I thought it was a passable mouth enough----'

'That's not very comforting.'

'With a pretty pout and sweet lips; but actually, nothing more
than what everybody has.'

'Don't make up things out of your head as you go on, there's a
dear Stephen. Now--what--did--you--love--me--for?'

'Perhaps, 'twas for your neck and hair; though I am not sure: or
for your idle blood, that did nothing but wander away from your
cheeks and back again; but I am not sure. Or your hands and arms,
that they eclipsed all other hands and arms; or your feet, that
they played about under your dress like little mice; or your