“Have a care of yonder maid,” she said.
“But what fashion of care, Mistress Basset? An’ you grant it me, I would value your thought thereupon.”
Philippa turned to Sir Thomas.
“Have you not,” she said, “made somewhat too much of this matter? Not that it was other than grave, in good sooth; yet methinks it had been better had you not let Blanche see that you counted it of so much import. I fear she shall now go about to count herself of mighty importance. Childre do, when you make much of their deeds; and Blanche is but a child yet, and will so be for another year or twain. Now this young man is safe hence, I would say, Fetch her home. And let none ever name the matter afore her again; let bygones be bygones. Only give her to see that you account of her as a silly child for the past, but yet that you have hope she shall be wiser in the future.”
“Well, herein I see not with you,” said Lady Enville. “I had thought it rare good fortune for Blanche to wed with Don John.”
Sir Thomas moved uneasily, but did not answer. Philippa turned and looked at the speaker.
“That was like,” she said quietly. But neither of her hearers knew how much meaning lay beneath the words.
“And what think you touching Lucrece?” asked Mrs Tremayne the next day, when Philippa was again at the parsonage.
“I ne’er had a fancy for snakes, Thekla.”
“Then you count her deceitful? That is it which I have feared.”