It was manifest that Arthur was not only much distressed, but also very angry.
“And thou never spakest word to me, my son!” came in gentle tones of rebuke from his mother.
“Ah, the young folks make not the confessor of the father nor the mother,” said Mrs Rose smiling, and shaking her head. “It were the better that they did it, Arthur.”
“Mother, it was not my fault,” pleaded Arthur earnestly. “I would have spoken both to you and to Sir Thomas here, if she had suffered me. Only the very last time I urged it on her—and that no further back than this last week—she threatened me to have no further dealing with me, an’ I spake to either of you.”
“Often-times,” observed Mrs Rose thoughtfully, “the maidens love not like the mothers, mon chéri.”
“God have mercy!” groaned poor Sir Thomas, who was not least to be pitied of the group. “I am afeared Rachel hath the right. Lucrece hath not been true in this matter.”
“There is no truth in her!” cried Arthur bitterly. “And for the matter of that, there is none in woman!”
“Le beau compliment!” said his grandmother, laughing.
His mother looked reproachfully at him, but did not speak.
“And Rachel saith there is none in man,” returned Sir Thomas with grim humour. “Well-a-day! what will the world come to?”