“But where doth he this?” said Lady Louvaine: “here in the chamber, or out of door?”
“Dear heart! in the church.”
“But for why?”
“Prithee ask at him, for I can ne’er tell thee.”
“Did you ne’er ask him, Aunt?” said Edith.
“For sure did I, and gat no answer that I could make aught of: only some folly touching Catholic practice, and the like. And, ‘Master Twinham,’ said I, ‘I know not well what you would be at, but I can tell you, I lived through the days of Queen Mary, and, if that be what you mean by Catholic practices, they are practices we don’t want back again.’ Well, he mumbled somewhat about being true to the Church, and such like: but if he be an honest man, my shoes be made of Shrewsbury sweet bread. We tumbled all such practices out of the Church, above forty years gone; and what’s more, we’ll not stand to have them brought in again, though there be some may try.”
“They will not bring any such folly in while the Queen liveth, I guess,” answered Edith.
“Amen! but the Queen, God bless her! is seventy this year.”
“Would you have her live for ever, Aunt Joyce?” asked Aubrey.
“Would she could!” she answered. “As to this fellow, I know not what he’ll be at next. He told me to my face that a Papist was better than a Puritan. ‘Well, Mr Twinham,’ said I, ‘you may be a Papist, but I am a Puritan, and there I tarry till I find somewhat better.’”