“Well?” saith Father, laughing.
“But I hope,” continueth she, “thou didst not forget (what thou didst know aforetime) that mine is two thousand.”
“My dear Joyce!” saith Father, and held forth his hand. “My true sister! I will not pretend to lack knowledge of thy meaning. Thou wouldst have me draw on thee for help to pay Walter’s debts—”
“Nay, not so,” saith she, “for I would pay them all out. Look thou, to do the same at once should inconvenience me but a trifle, and to do it at twice, nothing at all.”
“But, dear Joyce, I cannot,” quoth he. “Nay, not for thy sake—I know thou wouldst little allow such a plea—but for Walter’s own. To do thus should be something to ease myself, at the cost of a precious lesson that might last him his whole life.”
“I take thy meaning,” saith she, “yet I cannot sleep at ease if I do not somewhat. Give me leave to help a little, if no more. Might not that be done, yet leave Wat his lesson?”
“Well, dear heart, this I promise thee,” saith Father, “that in case we go a-begging, we will come first to the Manor House at Minster Lovel.”
“After which you shall get no farther,” saith Aunt Joyce. “But I want more than that, Aubrey. I would not of my good will tarry to help till thou and Lettice be gone a-begging. I can give the maids a gown-piece by now and then, of course, and so ease my mind enough to get an half-hour’s nap: but what am I to do for a night’s rest?”
Father laughed. “Come, a word in thine ear,” saith he.
Aunt Joyce bent her head down, but then pursed up her lips as though she were but half satisfied at last.