Cousin Bess makes answer, “but he up to me only yester-morrow on the Keswick road, as I come back from Isaac’s. My word, but he doth desire for to see Sir Aubrey some, for he asked at us all three if he were at home.”
“Was he a man thou shouldest feel to trust, Bess?” asks Mother.
“Trust!” saith she. “I’d none trust yon dandified companion, not for to sell a sucking-pig.”
Dear heart, but what queer things doth she say at times! I would Cousin Bess were somewhat more civiler. To think of a gentleman such as he is, a-selling of pigs! Yet I must say I was not o’er well pleased to hear of his complimenting of Edith: though, ’tis true, that was ere he had seen me.
“What like is he, Bess?” saith Mother. “I would know the thought he gave to thee.”
“Marry, the first were that he was like to have no wife, or she should have amended a corner of his rare slashed sleeve, that was ravelling forth o’ the stitching,” saith she. “And the second were, that he were like the folk in this vicinage, with his golden hair and grey eyen. And the third, that he were not, for that his speech was not of these parts. And the fourth, that his satin slashed sleeves and his silver buckles of his shoes must have cost him a pretty penny. And the last, that I’d be fain to see the back of him.”
“Any more betwixt, Cousin?” saith Edith, laughing.
“Eh, there was a cart-load betwixt,” saith she. “I mattered him nought, I warrant you.”
“Well, neither did I, o’er much,” saith Edith.
Dear heart, thought I, but where were their eyes, both twain, that they saw not the lovesomeness and gentilesse of that my gallant Protection? But as for Cousin Bess, she never had no high fantasies. All her likings be what the French call bourgeois. But I was something surprised that Edith should make no count of him. I marvel if she meant the same.