“Would you like him to marry Blanche, Father?”
“Blanche!—marry Blanche! What is come over thee, child? Marry Blanche!”
Sir Thomas’s tone was totally incredulous. He almost laughed in his contemptuous unbelief.
“You crede it not, Father,” said Lucrece’s voice—always even, and soft, and low. “Yet it may be true, for all that.”
“In good sooth, my lass: so it may. But what cause hast, that thou shouldst harbour such a thought?”
“Nought more than words overheard, Father,—and divers gifts seen—and—”
“Gifts! The child showed us none.”
“She would scantly show you, Father, a pair of beads of coral, with a cross of enamel thereto—”
“Lucrece, dost thou know this?”
Her father’s tone was very grave and stern now.