dream-thoughts, and gaily said, "And breakfast ready! This is even better
than the Paris fashion. What is it? More of dear Kate's cordial?"

I did not know what the Paris fashion of breakfast was, and she did not
enlighten me. Anyhow, I, the yokel, had improved on it, and that was
something.

"A far better brewage, madam," I said, "but you must pardon the
Staffordshire fashion of serving it."

She sat up, took the cap, and drank heartily, the dawn still in her eyes
and cheeks, and masses of yellow hair tumbling down from under her hood on
throat and bosom. When she handed back the cap, I could not forbear from
saying, "You look charming after your night's rest, and I profess that
tear of milk on the tip of your nose becomes you admirably." With the rim
of my cap at my lips, I added with mock concern, "Have a care, Mistress
Waynflete, or you'll rub off tip as well as tear."

"I suppose you thought 'As a jewel of gold' and the rest of it," she
said, squinting comically down to examine her nose.

"Really, no, madam; I thought of nothing so scandalous, from the Bible
though it be. I thought of--of...."

"I'm all ears," she said archly.

"I'm a poor hand at turning compliments to ladies," said I.

"On the contrary, you turn them admirably. See!" She held up my sopping
cap, and laughed merrily.