“I pay you good thanks, Master Walter Louvaine,” quoth she, “for the finest compliment was ever paid me yet. I am a woman (wherefore I thank God), and therefore (this young gentleman being testimony) have more bravery of soul than a man. For that is what thy words come to, Master Wat; though I reckon thou didst not weigh them afore utterance.—Now, Aubrey, what art thou about to do with this lad?”
“I fear there is but one thing to do,” saith Father, and he fetched an heavy sigh. “But let us reach the inwards of the matter first. I reckon, Walter, thou hast many debts outstanding?”
“I am afeared so, Sir,” saith Wat,—which, to do him credit, did look heartily ashamed of himself.
“To what sum shall they reach, thinkest?”
Wat fiddled with his chain, and fidgetted on his seat, and Father had need of some patience (which he showed rarely) ere he gat at the full figures. It did then appear that our young gallant should have debts outstanding to the amount of nigh two thousand pounds.
“But, Wat,” saith Helen, looking sore puzzled, “how couldst thou spend two thousand pounds when thou hadst but sixty-two in these four years?”
“Maidens understand not the pledging of credit,” saith Ned. “See thou, Nell: I am a shop-keeper, and sell silk gowns; and thou wouldst have one that should cost an angel—”
“Eh, Ned!” crieth she, and all we laughed.
“Thou shalt not buy a silk gown under six angels at the very least. Leastwise, not clear silk: it should be all full of gum.”
“Go to!” saith Ned. “Six angels, then—sixty if thou wilt. (Dear heart, what costly matter women be! I’ll don my wife in camlet.) Well, in thy purse is but two angels. How then shalt thou get thy gown?”