Mary’s vanity was delighted with her elopement trousseau, for of course it was of the finest.  Not that the quality was better than her usual wear, but doublet and hose were so different on her.  She paraded for an hour or so before Jane, and as she became accustomed to the new garb, and as the steel reflected a most beautiful image, she determined to show herself to Brandon and me.  She said she wanted to become accustomed to being seen in her doublet and hose, and would begin with us.  She thought if she could not bear our gaze she would surely make a dismal failure on shipboard among so many strange men.  There was some good reasoning in this, and it, together with her vanity, overruled her modesty, and prompted her to come to see us in her character of young nobleman.  Jane made one of her mighty protests, so infinitely disproportionate in size to her little ladyship, but the self-willed princess would not listen to her, and was for coming alone if Jane would not come with her.  Once having determined, as usual with her, she wasted no time about it, but throwing a long cloak over her shoulders, started for our rooms, with angry, weeping, protesting Jane at her heels.

When I heard the knock I was sure it was the girls, for though Mary had promised Brandon she would not, under any circumstances, attempt another visit, I knew so well her utter inability to combat her desire, and her reckless disregard of danger where there was a motive sufficient to furnish the nerve tension, that I was sure she would come, or try to come, again.

I have spoken before about the quality of bravery.  What is it, after all, and how can we analyze it?  Women, we say, are cowardly, but I have seen a woman take a risk that the bravest man’s nerve would turn on edge against.  How is it?  Can it be possible that they are braver than we?  That our bravery is of the vaunting kind that telleth of itself?  My answer, made up from a long life of observation, is:  “Yes!  Given the motive, and women are the bravest creatures on earth.”  Yet how foolishly timid they are at times!

I admitted the girls, and when the door was shut Mary unclasped the brooch at her throat and the great cloak fell to her heels.  Out she stepped, with a little laugh of delight, clothed in doublet, hose and confusion, the prettiest picture mortal eyes ever rested on.  Her hat, something on the broad, flat style with a single white plume encircling the crown, was of purple velvet trimmed in gold braid and touched here and there with precious stones.  Her doublet was of the same purple velvet as her hat, trimmed in lace and gold braid.  Her short trunks were of heavy black silk slashed by yellow satin, with hose of lavender silk; and her little shoes were of russet French leather.  Quite a rainbow, you will say—­but such a rainbow!

Brandon and I were struck dumb with admiration and could not keep from showing it.  This disconcerted the girl, and increased her embarrassment until we could not tell which was the prettiest—­the garments, the girl or the confusion; but this I know, the whole picture was as sweet and beautiful as the eyes of man could behold.