“Master Cromwell,” he said, “I see that you find it somewhat painful to tell me all you have learned that would be disagreeable to me; therefore let us retire from here. If it please you to sup with us, we will return to the house.”
“I do not think Master Cromwell is hungry,” said Margaret, changing color. “He is one of those men who subsist on evil as well as bread; it is a stronger and more bitter nourishment, the savor of
which agrees better with their ferocious natures.”
“You are charming, charming, damsel!” replied Cromwell, turning toward her with that trifling manner, coarse and familiar, which he considered suitable to adopt in his intercourse with women farthest above himself.
“Margaret does not like compliments,” replied Sir Thomas More, who endeavored to repair, without seeming to have noticed them, the expressions of anger and scorn Margaret had permitted to escape her. “She is very sensitive,” he added.
“And very frank, it seems to me,” answered Cromwell quickly, in a tone insolent and easy.
“A little too much so, perhaps,” replied Sir Thomas gently; “but that is better than to be deceitful.”
“Are all these fields yours?” asked Cromwell.
“No, indeed, sir. I own very little land around my dwelling; besides, I gave a portion of it to Margaret, my daughter, when she became affianced to young Roper.”
Saying this, Sir Thomas turned and walked with Cromwell and his family towards the house. On their arrival Sir Thomas conducted Cromwell into his private cabinet.