“They must be uncommon queer folks in Hertfordshire if thou art a sample thereof,” was the reply. “Why, for sure, I so signified. Thou must have been bred up in a convent, Phyllis, or else tied to thy grandmother’s apron-string all thy life. Shall a maid ne’er have a bit of fun, quotha?”
Amphillis made no answer, but finished her rissoles in silence, and helped herself to a small pound-cake.
“Verily, some folks be born as old as their grandmothers,” said Agatha, accepting a fieldfare from the sewer, and squeezing a lemon over it. “I would fain enjoy my youth, though I’m little like to do it whilst here I am. Howbeit, it were sheer waste of stuff for any maid to set her heart on Master Norman; he wist not how to discourse with maids. He should have been a monk, in very sooth, for he is fit for nought no better. There isn’t a sparkle about him.”
“He looks satisfied,” said Amphillis, rather wistfully. She was wishing that she felt so.
Agatha’s answer was a puzzled stare, first at Amphillis, and then at Mr Hylton.
“‘Satisfied!’” she repeated, as if she wondered what the word could mean. “Aren’t we all satisfied?”
“Maybe you are,” replied Amphillis, “though I reckon I have heard you say what looked otherwise. You would fain have more life and jollity, if I err not.”
“Truly, therein you err not in no wise,” answered Agatha, laughing again, though in a more subdued manner than before. “I never loved to dwell in a nunnery, and this house is little better. ‘Satisfied!’” she said again, as though the word perplexed her. “I never thought of no such a thing. Doth Master Norman look satisfied? What hath satisfied him, trow?”
“That is it I would fain know,” said Amphillis.
“In good sooth, I see not how it may be,” resumed Agatha. “He has never a penny to his patrimony. I heard him to say once to Master Godfrey that all he had of his father was horse, and arms, and raiment. Nor hath he any childless old uncle, or such, that might take to him, and make his fortune. He lives of his wits, belike. Now, I am an only daughter, and have never a brother to come betwixt me and the inheritance; I shall have a pretty penny when my father dies. So I have some right to be jolly. Ay, and jolly I’ll be when I am mine own mistress, I warrant you! I’ve no mother, so there is none to oversee me, and rule me, and pluck me by the sleeve when I would go hither and thither, so soon as I can be quit of my Lady yonder. Oh, there’s a jolly life afore me.”