“How much be these debts, Mr Marshall?” asked the old lady.
“Twenty pounds borrowed from Mr Thomas Rookwood; twenty lost at play; and about sixty owing to tailors, mercers, and the like.”
“Ay, I reckoned that velvet would be over a penny the yard.”
“I see, the lad hath disburdened himself to you,” said Lady Louvaine, with a sad smile. “Truly, I am sorry to hear this, though little astonied. Mr Marshall, I have been much troubled at times, thinking whether, in suffering Aubrey to enter my Lord Oxford’s service, I had done ill: and yet in very deed, at the time I could see nothing else to do. It seemed to be the way wherein God meant us to go—and yet—”
“Madam, the Lord’s mercies are great enough to cover our mistakes along with our sins. And it may be you made none. I have never seen Mr Louvaine so softened and humbled as he now looks to be.”
“May the Lord lead him forth by the right way! What do you advise, true friend?”
“I see two courses, Madam, which under your good leave I will lay before you. Mr Louvaine can either lie hid in the country with some friend of yours,—or, what were maybe better, some friend of your friend: or, if he would be doing at once towards the discharging of his debts, he can take the part Mr Floriszoon hath chosen, and serve some tradesman in his shop.”
“Trade! Aubrey!” shrieked Mrs Louvaine in horror. “He never will! My boy hath so delicate a soul—”
“He said he would,” answered Mr Marshall quietly, “and thereby won my high respect.”
“Nay, you never mean it!” exclaimed Temperance. “Bless the lad! I ne’er gave him credit for half the sense.”