"Who is the King's Grace?" returned Mr. Strangeways, putting his hands in his pockets, with as little concern about possible spies or enemies as though he had lived in the nineteenth century.
"'When we be at Rome, we do as Rome doth,'" quoted Frideswide, with a smile. Not only had her ears become accustomed to the term as applied to Edward, but, like many Lancastrians, she considered that the regal right had now become vested in the House of York. Mr. Philip Strangeways, on the contrary, held politics of so very red a dye that the young Earl of Richmond was his King. "You know, Master Philip," concluded she.
"I know more than I profit by, mayhap. Howbeit, your question tarrieth his answer. Nay, 'tis not Merry Ned this time. 'Tis Crookback Dickon. His soul is not as straight as his body. Now I marvel," said Mr. Strangeways, reflectively, "if that companion reckoneth he is going to Heaven. I'll lay you a broad shilling he so doth."
"What did he, my Master?"
"Kicked my Lady up into Yorkshire, when she fled to that her dearworthy[#] son, and begged him of his protection. And ne'er a plack[#] in her pocket withal. I do pray the blessed saints to give him his deserts, and I rather count they will."
[#] Beloved.
[#] Coin.
"Dear heart! but sure he would not thus evil entreat his own mother-in-law?"
This innocent query seemed to cause Mr. Philip Strangeways inextinguishable amusement.
"Be men so fond of their mothers-in-law?" said he. "He is, take my word for it: for both he and his brother have set down the foot that never a penny shall my old Lady finger that their fingers can keep from her. She hath scarce more gowns than backs, nor more hoods than heads; and as to her botews,[#] I took them myself to the cobbler this morrow to be patched. Be thankful, Mistress Marston, that you have lighted on your feet like a cat, and are well out of an ill service."