Mistress Vines started; her wifely face reddened with surprise, not unmingled with anger, and she replied promptly, with her bright eyes surveying the group:
“I thank ye, good dames, in that ye will pray for my noble lord; but, in what way has he earned the right to be called ungodly?”
“Our occasion is for the holding forth of prayer, not to discuss carnal questions,” responded Mistress Bonyton.
“But indeed, good dame, let me know his offenses, that I may the better join in your prayers.”
“It is not meet that we talk,” interposed Dame Higgins; “thou art holding a chosen vessel, gifted in prayer, from the altar.”
And at once the group arose, and each grasping the back of a chair, which they tilted upon two legs, Mistress Bonyton opened with a violent denunciation of the “sins of pride and haughtiness; of the hankering after the leeks and garlics of Egypt, in the shape of Episcopacy; and the high head which portended a fall; and the crimpings and mincings, and titles and shows of aristocracy, a shame to the church here planted in the wilderness.”
Mistress Vines quietly moved upon tip-toe to the door and went out, much flushed in the face, and most certainly carrying her pretty head quite as high as the prayer had indicated. She did not even wait for the “amen,” but put the door between her and them, leaving Mistress Bonyton to her invective, which they called prayer.
As she tripped along, she met Sir Richard, who smiled when he saw her flashing eye, but he put her arm within his, smiled, and patted the hand that lay upon his arm, for he divined the cause.
“Ay, sweetheart, they do not look upon thy husband with thine eyes,” and stooping his head to hers he whispered, with a boyish laugh, “heaven forefend that they should.”