Igraine’s face clouded.
“Did you ask of Bedivere?” she said.
“Oh, yes; a silly, vain fellow, with a red beard and sandy hair.”
“And John of Glastonbury?”
“Gwenith could tell me nothing of that man. Dame Martha caught us talking, and it was then she scolded—the ugly, red-faced old hen. She said”—and Lilith blushed—“that I was an idle, silly hussy to gad and gossip after Court gentlemen. Now that wasn’t fair, was it, Igraine?”
“No, dear. I should like to have a talk with Dame Martha.”
Lilith rose to the notion.
“She would never scold you, Igraine. You look far too stately.”
“Simpleton! a scold would spatter Gabriel.”
“Well, if I were Gabriel I know what I should do to Dame Martha.”