The cobbler cast an infuriated look at him as he walked on, the flush which Hugh loved to see on his cheek.
“That was an evil man, father,” said the boy. Bassett was silent for a space.
“There are many such discontented knaves,” he returned at last, “eating like a canker into the very heart of our nation. Self, self, that is the limit to which their thoughts rise. And they measure all others by their own petty standard—even the king. It makes one sick at heart to think what he has done for his country, and how—to hear some of these mean-spirited loons talk—it is turned against him, and besmirched, till fairest deeds are made to look black, and nothing is left to him but his faults.”
If Hugh could not understand all, he took in much, and remembered it afterwards. But the delights of the fair drove all else out of his head for the moment, and he could scarce be torn away from the dancing bear.
“Hearken,” said his father at last with a laugh, “whatever happens, I’ll have none of the bear! His masters may die, and he be baited by all the dogs in the town, but he shall never be my travelling fellow. Come, ’tis time we were at the lady’s.”
This time they were passed through the passage to the talking room, where Dame Edith was sitting on a bench or low settle. The walls were unplastered, its rough floor uncarpeted, its windows unglazed, to modern notions it would have seemed little better than a cell, but Dame Edith herself created about her an air of refinement and delicacy. After the new fashion, instead of the plaits which had been worn, her fair hair was turned up and enclosed in a network caul of gold thread, over which was placed a veil. She wore a kirtle of pale blue silk, and a fawn-coloured velvet mantle, with an extravagantly long train embroidered in blue. She looked too young to be the mother of Edgar, and indeed was Sir Thomas’s second wife, and the very darling of his heart. The twins, especially Anne, strongly resembled her; Eleanor had more of her father’s and her step-brother’s eager impetuosity, but Anne bade fair to be as sweet-mannered and dainty as her mother. Bassett and his son had hardly made their greeting, before the little maidens were in the room, Eleanor so brimming over with questions about the monkey that she could scarce keep her tongue in check.
Dame Edith smiled very kindly on the boy.
“I have heard all the tale from Friar Nicholas,” she said, “and of how discreetly Wolf came to the rescue. And so thou wouldst be a soldier?”
Hugh coloured, and his father broke in—
“Nay, lady, he hath laid by that foolish fancy. He will be a carver, like myself.”