“A good stock, and an old; and a good lad, I trust. Thou must have a care, Orige, not to cast the child away on one that will not deal well and truly by her.”
“Oh, Arthur would deal well,” said Lady Enville carelessly. “He is a mighty sobersides, and so is Clare. They were cut out for one another.”
“Poor child!” said Philippa.
“‘Poor child’—and wherefore, Mrs Basset, say you so?”
“Because, Orige, it seemeth me she hath no mother.”
“Nay, Mistress Basset, what signify you?”
“No mother, Orige—or as good as none. An’ Clare had been my child, I had never handed her o’er, to Arthur Tremayne nor any other, with no more heed than a napron-full of sticks.”
“Well, in very deed, I do take the better care of the twain for Blanche to be well matched. Lo’ you, Mistress Basset, Blanche is of good lineage; and she is rare lovesome—well-nigh as fair as I was at her years—so that I would not have her to cast herself away, in no wise: but for Clare—which hath small beauty, and is of little sort—it maketh not much matter whom she may wed.”
“Good lack, Orige Enville, is a maid’s heart no matter?—is a maid’s life no matter? Why, woman! thou lackest stirring up with a poker! I marvel if I were sent hither to do it.”
“Gramercy, Mistress Basset!” cried Lady Enville in horror. “That stirring up is it which I can in no wise abide.”