“I thought thou saidst she led him an ill, diseaseful (Note 1) life?”
“Well, so did I. Father didn’t.”
“Oh!” said Amphillis, in an enlightened tone.
“And she’s a rare hand at the cooking, that will I say. She might have made patties all her life. She catches up everything afore you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ She says it’s by reason she’s a Dutchwoman (Note 2). Rubbish! as if a lot of nasty foreigners could do aught better, or half as well, as English folks!”
“Be all foreigners nasty?” asked Amphillis, thinking of her mistress.
“Of course they be! Phyllis, what’s come o’er thee?”
“I knew not anything had.”
“Lack-a-day! thou art tenfold as covenable and deliver (Note 3) as thou wert wont to be. Derbyshire hath brightened up thy wits.”
Amphillis smiled. Privately, she thought that if her wits were brightened, it was mainly by being let alone and allowed to develop free of perpetual repression.
“I have done nought to bring the same about, Ricarda. But must I conceive that Master Winkfield’s diseaseful life, then, is in thine eyes, or in his own?”