“You may open the door, my master, if it demean not so fine a gentleman.—Good maid! Take my basket, Rachel. The fish for dinner, and the chicken for to-morrow.”
“There’s nobut four whitings here, Mistress: shouldn’t there be five?”
“Hush thee, good maid. They’re twopence apiece.”
“Eh, yo’ never sen (say) so!”
“Ay, but I do. Let be; I’ll have a bit of green stuff, or something.”
And as Rachel, looking but half satisfied, went off with the basket, Temperance threw open the parlour door.
“Madam, suffer me to announce the Duke of Damask, the Prince of Plush, the Viscount of Velvet, and the Baron of Bombast. Pray you, look not for four nobles; there is but one.”
“Aubrey!” was the response, in diverse tones, from the three ladies.
The object of this attention did not look happy; but he walked in and offered due greeting to his relatives. Temperance sat down, untied her plain black hood, and laid it aside.
“And whither might your Lordship be going when I captivated you?” asked she. “Not to this house, for you had passed it by.”