“Eh, lass, yo’ never knew Sir Aubrey!” was Charity’s grave comment.
There was a good deal for Hans to hear that evening, and he listened silently while Edith told the tale, and Temperance now and then interspersed sarcastic observations. When at last the story was told, Hans said quietly—
“Say you that you look to see Aubrey again to-orrow?”
“Lady Lettice doth, and Edith. Not I,” said Temperance. “’Tis a case wherein too many cooks might spoil the broth, and the lad shall be all the easier in his mind for his old crusty Aunt Temperance to tarry at home. But I say, Edith, I would you had asked him for a schedule of his debts. ‘Tailors and silkmen’ is scarce enough to go to market withal, if we had the means to pay them.”
“So did I, Temperance, and he told me—twenty pounds to Mr Tom Rookwood, and forty to Patrick at the Irish Boy; fifteen to Cohen, of the Three Tuns in Knightriders’ Street; and about ten more to Bennett, at the Bible in Paternoster Row.”
“Lancaster and Derby! Why, however many suits can the lad have in his wardrobe? It should fit me out for life, such a sum as that.”
“Well! I would we could discharge them,” said Lady Louvaine with a sigh. “Twenty to Tom Rookwood, and forty to Patrick!”
“Make your mind easy, Madam,” came in the quietest tones from Hans: “not a penny is owing to either.”
“What can you mean, Hans?”
“I am sure of it.”