“Dear heart alive!” cried Mistress Winter. “And what say my Ladies the King’s sisters, that be thus left out in the cold?”
“That is as it may be,” replied Mistress Flint mysteriously. “My good man saith, if the Lady Mary suffer all tamely, then is she not the maid he took her to be.”
“Lack-a-day! but I do verily hope siege shall be ne’er laid to London! It should go ill with us that dwell in the outskirts.”
“You say well, Gossip, in very deed. The blessed saints have a care of us! as metrusteth they shall.”
“Not they belike!” growled Mistress Winter, resuming her suspended proceedings with the frying-pan. “They shall be every one a-looking out for the Lady Jane.”
Mistress Flint came nearer, and replied in a mysterious whisper.
“Scantly so, as methinks, Gossip, when she is of the new learning, if folk speak sooth touching her. The saints and angels shall trouble them rare little about her. Trust me, they shall go with the Lady Mary, every man of them.”
“Say you so?” demanded Mistress Winter. “Why, then shall the old learning come in again, an’ she win.”
“Ay, I warrant you!” responded her neighbour.
Mistress Winter fried her rashers with a meditative face.