“I misdoubt if thou art right, Milly, to say that a man hath the more of his own way always,” saith Mother. “Methinks there be many women get much of that.”
“Then a man is not tied down to one corner. He can go and see the world,” saith Milly.
“In short,” quoth Aunt Joyce, “the moral of thy words, Milly, is—‘Untie me.’”
“I wish I were so!” mutters Milly.
“And what should happen next?” saith Aunt Joyce.
“Why, I reckon I could not do much without money,” answereth Milly.
“Oh, grant all that,” quoth Aunt Joyce,—“money, and leave, and all needed, and Mistress Milisent setting forth to do according to her will. What then?”
“Well, I would first go up to London,” saith she, “and cut some figure in the Court.”
Aunt Joyce gave a dry little laugh.
“There be figures of more shapes than one, Milly,” saith she. “Howbeit—what next?”