“Aye, I did,” she answered ungraciously, “but not along of a tattlin’ wench.”
My lady stared and flushed angrily.
“I will go!” said she, and drawing herself to her noble height, turned away, supremely disdainful as an outraged goddess; but old Penelope, who knew little of goddesses and cared less, was no whit abashed.
“Hoity-toity!” quoth she; “bide a bit, wench!” and my Lady Herminia found her stately progress checked by the crook of old Penelope’s stick that had hooked itself suddenly about her arm.
My lady turned and, amazed beyond speech, viewed the audacious old creature from head to foot until, meeting the fierce old eyes, her gaze paused there and thus, for a long moment, they stared at each other, the old woman and the young, while Sir John wisely held his peace.
“Ha!” exclaimed Dame Haryott at last, looking more malevolent and witch-like than usual, “an’ who be you, young mistress, wi’ y’r white ’ands, an’ dressed out like a country-lass, as do carry y’rself so proud-like? Hush and I’ll tell ’ee. You be one as long loved Love, an’ sought it vainly till, one day, ye found it—in your own heart ... the love for a man——”
“I—I love no man!” cried my lady, with a strange vehemence.
“Bah!” quoth Penelope harshly, “’tis peepin’ at me from y’r eyes, flushin’ in y’r cheek. First, ’twas love o’ y’rself, which was a bad love, but now ... aha, now it be love for a man! A love as shall grow an’ grow till it be a pain ... some love be a pain, I know ... and ’tis the only love worth ’aving!”
“I love no man!” repeated my lady.
“Shall I speak his name, mistress?”