Selwick Hall, March ye xxv.
This morrow, Milisent was avised to ask at Walter, in a tone somewhat satirical, if he wist how his Excellency did.
“Nay, Milly, mind me not of my follies, prithee,” quoth he, flushing.
“Never cast a man’s past ill-deeds in his face, Milly,” softly saith Mother. “His conscience (if it be awake) shall mind him of them oft enough.”
“I reckon she shall have forgotten by now how to spell his name,” saith Father. “There be many such at Court.”
“Yet they have hearts in the Court, trow?” saith Aunt Joyce.
“A few,” quoth Father. “But they mostly come forth thereof. For one like my Lady of Surrey—(Lettice will conceive me)—there is many a Lady of Richmond.”
“Oh, surely not, Aubrey!” crieth Mother, earnestly.
“True, dear heart,” answereth he. “Let but a woman enter the Court—any Court—and verily it should seem to change her heart to stone.”
“Now, son of Adam!” saith Aunt Joyce.