Mrs Ratcliffe stood always upon her dignity before her household, and never forgot herself, or allowed others to forget, that she was the daughter of a Knight of the Shire, and that her own family was connected with some of the leading people at Court. Distantly connected, but still the fact remained, and Mrs Ratcliffe made the most of it.
When the horn-handled knife had been struck thrice on the board by the bailiff, who sat at the lower end, the large party rose. George rose also, and said a short grace. Then the hall was deserted, the servants waiting till Madam retired to her room, before they cleared away the dishes.
George made a hasty meal, and then, giving his hand to his mother, he led her through a door at the upper end of the hall to her own parlour.
The spring twilight was deepening, and the figures of both mother and son were but dimly visible.
Perhaps George was not sorry that there was but little light for his mother to discover the blush which rose to his honest face, as he said,—
I saw Mistress Lucy Forrester an hour agone, and I bid her to sup with us on the morrow. I gained your consent to do so,' he added hurriedly.
'You told me of your purpose, George,' his mother said coldly. 'I did not forbid it, but I could hardly be said to consent. The poor girl may be well favoured; I do not deny it.'
'Who could deny it?' George exclaimed, with some heat.
'I said I did not deny it; but her relations are, methinks, very coarse.'
'Mother, there is not a gentler lady in the land than Mistress Gifford. If you doubt my word inquire of Mr Sidney or Lady Mary.'