“Ah, she ne’er had a good temper, hadn’t Blanche,” saith her mother. “Well, poor heart! I’ll not quarrel with her. We’re all sinners, I reckon. The lass may come home when she will, for all me; and I’ll do mine utmost to peace her father. We haven’t so much time o’ this world, nor so much happiness, that we need wrangle and make matters worser.”
For Mistress Lewthwaite is herself a right easy-going woman: ’tis her father of whom Blanche hath her temper. But Alice saith to me, that sat right at the end of the board where she was a-work—
“All very well, methinks, for my fine mistress to come hither a-prinking and a-pranking of her, and looking to be took back as if nought had happened. If I had the word to say, she’d not come home in no hurry, I warrant you. She should lie on her bed as she’d made it.”
“O Alice!” said I, “but sure, thou wilt be right glad to have Blanche back?”
“Shall I so?” saith she, and tossed her head. “Thank you for nothing, Nell Louvaine. I’m a decent maid that have alway carried me belike, and I go not about to say ‘sister’ to one that brought disgrace on her name.”
“Alice, art thou about to play the Pharisee?” said I, for I was sore troubled. I had ever thought Alice right sorry after Blanche, and it did astonish me to hear such words of her.
“Let my fine Lady Everett play the publican first, then,” quoth she.
I scarce wist what to say, yet I would have said more, but that Mother rose up to depart at this time. But I am so astonied at Alice. While so Blanche were lost, she did seem quite soft toward her; and now she is found, here is Alice grown hard as a board, and all of a minute, as it were. Had it been our Milly (which I do thank God from mine heart-root it is not) I think I would not have been thus towards her. I know I am but sinful and not to be trusted for the right, as much or more than other: but I do think I should not so do.
Yet is there one matter that I comprehend not, nor never shall, neither of Milly nor of any other. To think of a maid leaving of father and mother, and her home, and her brethren and sisters, to go away with a fine-spoken man that she had not known a month, all by reason he spake some flattering words—in good sooth, but ’tis a marvel unto me. Truly, I might conceive the same in case a maid were rare ill-usen at home—were her father ever harsh unto her, and her mother all day a-nagging at her—then, if the man should show him no mere flatterer, but a true friend, would I not stick to the days she had known him. And yet, as methinks, it should be a strange case wherein a true man should not go boldly and honestly to the maid’s father, and ask her of him, with no hole-and-corner work. But to think of so leaving our father and mother, that never in all their lives did deny us any good thing that was meet for us, and that have loved us and cared for us all, from the day we were born unto this day—to go away from them with a strange flatterer—nay, this passeth me by many a mile.
Selwick Hall, January ye xvi.