“He reckons himself the blissfullest man under the sun,” said Ricarda, as they rose from the table: “and he dare not say his soul is his own; not for no price man should pay him.”
Amphillis privately thought the bliss of a curious kind.
“Phyllis!” said her cousin, suddenly, “hast learned to hold thy tongue?”
“I count I am metely well learned therein, Rica.”
“Well, mind thou, not for nothing of no sort to let on to my Lady that Father is a patty-maker. I were put forth of the door with no more ado, should it come to her ear that I am not of gentle blood like thee.”
“Ricarda! Is my Lady, then, deceived thereon?”
“’Sh—’sh! She thinks I am a Neville, and thy cousin of the father’s side. Thee hold thy peace, and all shall be well.”
“But, Rica! that were to tell a lie.”
“Never a bit of it! Man can’t tell a lie by holding his peace.”
“Nay, I am not so sure thereof as I would like. This I know, he may speak one by his life no lesser than his words.”