“Why, yes,” said More, “here I am.”
“I came to see if I could be of any use to you, Master More; I know a friend’s face is a good councillor sometimes, even though that friend be a fool.”
More patted him softly on the knee.
“No fool,” he said, “far from it.”
He looked at him so oddly that Ralph feared that he suspected him; so he made haste to bring out Beatrice’s letter.
“Mistress Atherton has written me this,” he said. “I was able to do her a little service—at least I thought it so then.”
More took the letter and glanced at it.
“A very pretty letter,” he said, “and why do you show it me?”
Ralph looked at him steadily.
“Because I am Master Cromwell’s servant; and you never forget it.”