“Dear Heaven, no, your honor. I will see to it, sir; I will speak to Dan like a father. He shall not pester the wench, and she shall be taught to bridle her tongue.”
“If she has a temper, Grimshaw, you can best mend it by teaching your son to mind his business.”
“True, your honor, true; it is good to hear you speak so kindly.”
Jeffray lay quiet a moment, while Isaac still sniffed and fidgeted beside the bed, watching the master of Rodenham with his shrewd, gray eyes. Old Ursula was clattering her pans in the kitchen, humming some old ditty, while Bess, her brown hands white with flour, was making pastry for Squire Jeffray’s supper.
“Grimshaw,” said the younger man, at last.
“Sir?”
“I shall not set the law against your son.”
“God bless your honor’s noble heart.”
“If there is more trouble betwixt him and the girl—”
Isaac Grimshaw was all reverent attention.