“And what is her name?” asked Faith.
“Silence Abbott,” said he.
“She scarce answers to it, seemingly,” replied Temperance.
“Where made you acquaintance with your Tom Rookwood, Aubrey?” said his grandmother.
“At the door,” said he. “His father is a gentleman of Suffolk, a younger son of Rookwood of Coldham Hall. He has three sisters,—I saw not the other two; but I say, that Dorothy’s a beauty!”
“Well!” replied Temperance. “Folks say, ‘As mute as a fish’; but it seems to me the Golden Fish is well-nigh as talkative as the Angel. Mind thy ways, Aubrey, and get not thyself into no tanglements with no Dorothys. It shall be time enough for thee to wed ten years hence.”
“And have a care that Mr Rookwood be himself an upright and God-fearing man,” added his Aunt Edith.
“Oh, he’s all right!” answered Aubrey, letting Dorothy go by. “He saith he can hit a swallow flying at eighty paces.”
“More shame for him!” cried Edith. “What for should he hit a swallow?”
“He has promised to show me all sorts of things,” added Aubrey.