“’Tis proof I’m not, for your saying so pleases me. Lord, what a novelty to hear a compliment!”
He conned her with a puzzled air, then took the piece of work from her hands and stood quizzing it.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A sampler,” she answered. “Have you never seen one before?”
“Not in your hands.”
“It has been in my hands, nevertheless, for—O God, I don’t know! Fifty years, belike. I began it when I was a little girl, and time goes slowly in these days.” She jumped to her feet, and stood at his shoulder, pointing out the figures of the design. “Do you see? Here’s what I noted most, put down as in a commonplace book—people and texts, and even animals, including a number of my friends. Am I not a Lely in portraiture, cousin? Here’s my dear nurse, and here my governess to the life.”
“To the knife, she looks rather. Who’s this—your father?”
“Of course, stupid.”
“Do you put in none but those you favour?”
“O no! Here and there is one distasteful.”