“Nay, save to meet him in the street, Madam.”
“My son, should it give thee great compunction (grief, annoyance) if I bade thee have no more ado with either of these gentlemen?”
“What mean you, Madam?”
“I mean not that if thou meet them in the street thou shalt not give them greeting; but no more to visit them in their lodgings. My boy, Mr Percy is a Popish recusant, and there is much fear of Mr Catesby likewise.”
“Not all recusants are bad men, I hope,” answered Aubrey evasively, as if he were unwilling to respond by a direct promise to that effect.
“I hope likewise: but some are, as we know. And when innocent men be drawn in with bad men, ’tis often found that the bad slip forth unhurt, and leave the innocent to abide the hazard. Promise me, Aubrey, that thou wilt haunt (visit) these men’s company no longer.”
“Truly, Madam, I know not what I should say to my friends. Bethink you also, I pray, that I am of age.”
“Of what age?” demanded his Aunt Temperance in her usual style. “Not of the age of discretion, I being witness.”
“Of the age at which a man commonly takes care of himself,” answered Aubrey, loftily.
“‘Bate me an ace, quoth Bolton.’ At the age at which a man commonly takes no care of himself, nor of any other belike. Nor you are not the wisest man of your age in this world, my master: don’t go for to think it. You don’t need to look at me in that way, my fine young gentleman: you’ll not get sugar-plums from Temperance Murthwaite when you need rhubarb.”