All the women of the house were there but Milisent; of the men none save Ned.
“Aubrey hath had demand made of him for our Milly,” saith Mother.
“Heave he!” cries Ned. “Who wants her?”
“Good lack, lad, hast no eyes in thine head?” quoth Aunt Joyce. “Robin Lewthwaite, of course. I can alway tell when young folks be after that game.”
“Eh deary me!” cries Cousin Bess. “Why, I ne’er counted one of our lasses old enough to be wed. How doth time slip by, for sure!”
“I scarce looked for Milly to go the first,” saith Mistress Martin.
I reckon she thought Nell should have come afore, for she is six years elder than Milly: and so she might, would she have taken Nym Lewthwaite, for Father and Mother were so rare good as leave her choose. But I would not have taken Nym, so I cannot marvel at Helen.
“You see, Aunt,” saith Ned, answering Aunt Joyce, “I am not yet up to the game.”
“And what wilt choose by, when thou art?” saith Aunt Joyce, with a little laugh. “I know a young man that chose his wife for her comely eyebrows: and an other (save the mark!) by her French hood. Had I had no better cause than that last, I would have bought me a French hood as fair, if I had need to send to Paternoster Row (Note 2) for it, and feasted mine eyen thereon. It should not have talked when I desired quietness, nor have threaped (scolded) at me when I did aught pleased it not.”
“That speech is rare like a man, Joyce,” saith my Lady Stafford.