“Oh, there is plenty,” saith she. “We shall not be done with the childre this hour.”
“Thou wilt not, Anstace,” said I, “for in very deed all mothers do love rarely to talk over their childre, and I need not save thee. But I am no great talker, as thou well wist.”
“That do I,” saith she: “for of all young maids ever I saw, thou hast the least list (inclination) to discourse. But, Nell, I want to know somewhat of thee. What ails thee at Nym Lewthwaite?”
“Why, nothing at all,” I made answer: “save that I do right heartily desire him to leave me be.”
“Good sooth, but I thought it a rare chance for thee,” quoth she: “and I was fair astonied when Edith told me thou wouldst have none ado with him. But thou must mind thy shooting, Nell: if thou pitchest all thine arrows over high, thou wilt catch nought.”
“I want to pitch no arrows,” said I.
“Well, but I do desire thee to conceive,” saith she, “that too much niceness is not good for a young maid. ’Tis all very well to go a-picking and a-choosing ere thou art twenty: but trust me, Nell, by the time thou comest to thirty, thou shouldst be thankful to take any man that will have thee.”
“Nay!” said I, “that shall I not.”
“Eh, but thou wilt,” quoth she, “yea, if it were Nym Lewthwaite.”
“I won’t!” said I.