Agatha indulged in a little explosion of laughter under cover of her handkerchief.
“Oh, Amphillis, where hast thou dwelt all thy life? Thou art the full seliest (simplest, most unconventional) maid ever I did see.”
Amphillis replied literally. “Why, in Hertfordshire was I born, but I dwelt in London town a while ere I came hither.”
“A jolly townswoman must thou have made! Canst not conceive what I mean? Why, the youngest of six brethren hath all his fortune to make, and cannot be no catch at all for a maid, without he be full high of rank, and she have gold enough to serve her turn without.”
“But I don’t want to catch him,” said Amphillis, innocently.
Agatha burst out laughing, and Lady Foljambe, from the middle of the horseshoe table, looked daggers at her. Unrestrained laughter at table, especially in a girl, was a serious breach of etiquette.
“I say, you shouldn’t be so funny!” remonstrated Agatha. “How shall man help to laugh if you say so comical words?”
“I wist not I was thus comical,” said Amphillis. “But truly I conceive you not. Wherefore should I catch Master Hylton, and wherewith, and to what end?”
“Amphillis, you shall be the death of me! My Lady shall snap off my head at after supper, and the maid is not born that could help to laugh at you. To what end? Why, for an husband, child! As to wherewith, that I leave to thee.” And Agatha concluded with another stifled giggle.
“Agatha!” was all that the indignant Amphillis could say in answer. She could hardly have told whether she felt more vexed or astonished. The bare idea of such a thing, evidently quite familiar to Agatha, was utterly new to her. “You never, surely, signify that any decent maid could set herself to seek a man for an husband, like an angler with fish?”