"Well?" said she.
"'Tis a marvel," Prudence said, with a kind of sigh, "that shapes of the air can so take hold of us."
Judith smiled; there was something in her manner that Prudence did not understand.
"And Master Jonson, good Prue—that they call Ben Jonson—what of him?"
"I know not what you mean, Judith."
"Sure you know they make so much of him at the court, and of his long speeches about Greece and Rome and the like; and when one comes into the country with news of what is going forward, by my life you'd think that Master Jonson were the only writer in the land! What say you, good Prue: could worthy Master Jonson invent you a scene like that?"
"In truth I know not, Judith; I never read aught of his writing."
Judith took over the sheets and carefully rolled them up.
"Why," said she, "'twas my father brought him forward, and had his first play taken in at the theatre!"
"But your father and he are great friends, Judith, as I am told; why should you speak against him?"