"No, no," said Foreman, "you must not do that!--You must repel him coldly--show your dislike--look as if you loathed his sight."
"That were no great effort," cried the Countess; "it is my daily food to hate him.--But hark! there is a noise. Look out, Turner, look out."
"Half-a-dozen gentlemen, as I live," exclaimed Mrs. Turner, "coming straight along the path towards the house too.--I do believe they are gentlemen of my Lord of Suffolk, your noble father, lady.--Yes, there is Sir John Walters, as I live! Have you no hiding place, Doctor?"
"'Twere useless--'twere useless," answered the Countess, with a look of disdain; "the coach is at the gate; and I am not a baby, to be frightened at the look of my father's gentlemen. Come, quick, sirrah, give me some of that powder of hate you talk of."
"We weigh it, madam," said Foreman, hesitating, "at the rate of one gold noble per grain, but a small portion goes a great way."
"There, give me plenty," she cried, throwing a purse upon the table; and Foreman, taking it up, hurried to a little cabinet at the side, and took out several small packets.
At the same instant, the impostor's boy knocked at the door of the room; and the Countess exclaimed boldly, "Come in."
"There be six gentlemen at the door," he said, "inquiring if the Countess of Essex be here?"
"Tell them she is," replied the Countess, "and if they want her, they must wait her pleasure below.--Come, sir, is that ready?"
"It is, madam," said the Doctor, giving her the powders.