He walked down with Ralph to the garden steps, and stood by him talking, while the wherry that had been hailed from the other side made its way across.
“Beatrice is like one of my own daughters,” he said, “and I cannot give her better praise than that. She is always here, and always as you saw her to-day. I think she is one of the strongest spirits I know. What did you think of her, Mr. Torridon?”
“She did not talk much,” said Ralph.
“She talks when she has aught to say,” went on More, “and otherwise is silent. It is a good rule, sir; I would I observed it myself.”
“Who is she?” asked Ralph.
“She is the daughter of a friend I had, and she lives just now with my wife’s sisters, Nan and Fan. She is often in town with one of them. I am astonished you have not met her before.”
The wherry slid up to the steps and the man in his great boots slipped over the side to steady it.
“Now is the time to begin your philosophy,” said More as Ralph stepped in, “and a Socrates is ready. Talk it over, Mr. Torridon.”
CHAPTER VI
RALPH’S INTERCESSION
Ralph was astonished to find how the thought of the tall girl he had met at Sir Thomas More’s house remained with him. He had reported the result of his interview with More himself to his master; and Cromwell had received it rather coldly. He had sniffed once or twice.