“Seven weeks, father.”
“Well, my child, seven weeks if you like; and he has sent back those soldier fellows and his own attendants, and seems to have settled himself down. I mean to tell him that he had better—”
“Stay here till his health is quite recovered, father.”
“Nay, indeed, my child, after his grossly neglectful behaviour to us, I feel ready at any time to send him away.”
“But you will do no such thing, father. Sir Mark is your guest, and an important officer of his Majesty.”
“An’ if he had not been I should very soon—”
“Your good treatment of so important a gentleman may mean something in the future. It is always well, father, to have friends at Court.”
“Yes, yes, my child, but to leave us in so scurvy a way, and take up his abode with old Cobbe.”
“That has nothing to do with the matter, father. Ask him to stay.”
“But, Anne, my child.”