"The goose told me herself," said Philippa bluntly, with a short laugh.

"'Twas not in a civil fashion, Thekla. She said Arthur was good enough for Clare; it recked not whom Clare wedded withal. Marry come up! if I had not let mine head govern mine hands, I had fetched her a good crack on the crown with my staff. It could ne'er have hurt her brain--she has none. What were such women born for, do all the saints wit?--without it were to learn other folk patience."

Thekla Tremayne was a woman, and a mother. She would have been more than human if she had not felt hurt for this insult to her boy. Was Clare, or anything else in the world, too good for her one darling?

"Come,--swallow it, Thekla, and have done," said Philippa. "And by way of a morsel of sugar at after the wormwood, I will tell thee I do not think Clare hates him. I studied her face."

"Mistress Philippa, you read faces so rarely, I would you could read Lucrece Enville. Margaret, which is eldest of the three, is plain reading; I conceive her conditions [understand her disposition] well.

But Lucrece hath posed me ever since I knew her."

"I will lay thee a broad shilling, child, I read her off like thou shouldst a hornbook when I see her. Ay, I have some skill touching faces: I have been seventy years at the work."

That evening, just before supper, the indefatigable old lady marched into the hall at Enville Court. Lady Enville introduced her to Sir Thomas and Mistress Rachel, and presented her step-daughters and Jack.

Philippa made her private comments on each.

"A worthy, honest man--not too sharp-sighted," she said of Sir Thomas to herself. "And a good, sound-hearted woman"--of Mistress Rachel. "There is a pickie, or I mistake," greeted Jack. "This is Margaret, is it?

Clear as crystal: not deep, but clear. But this face"--as Lucrece came before her--"is deep enough. Not deep like a river, but like a snake.

I could do well enough with your plain, honest sister; but I love you not, Mistress Lucrece. Enville. Your graceful ways do not captivate me. Ah! it takes a woman to know a woman. And the men, poor silly things! fancy they know us better than we do each other."

If Philippa had spoken that last sentiment audibly, she would have won the fee-simple of Rachel Enville's heart.

"Sir Thomas," said Philippa, when they rose from supper, "when it may stand with your conveniency, I would fain have an half-hour's talk with you."

Sir Thomas was ready enough to confer with the old lady, whom he liked, and he led her courteously to his wife's boudoir. Lady Enville sat down in her cushioned chair, and made a screen of her fan.

"Sir Thomas," began Philippa bluntly, "I would fain wit what you and Orige mean to do with Clare? Forgive my asking; I love the child for her grandame's sake."

"Good Mistress, you be full welcome to ask the same. But for me, I know not how to answer, for I never took any thought thereupon. Hadst thou thought thereon, Orige?"

"I counted her most like to wed with Arthur Tremayne," said Lady Enville carelessly.

"I ne'er thought of him," remarked Sir Thomas.

"If it be so, good," said Philippa. "I have looked the lad o'er, and I am satisfied with him. And now, I pray you, take one more word from an old woman, of your gentleness. What do you with Blanche?"

In answer to this question--for Philippa was well known to Sir Thomas by repute, and he was prepared to trust her thoroughly--the whole story of Don Juan came out. Philippa sat for a minute, looking thoughtfully into the fire.

"Have a care of yonder maid," she said.

"But what fashion of care, Mistress Ba.s.set? An' you grant it me, I would value your thought thereupon."

Philippa turned to Sir Thomas.

"Have you not," she said, "made somewhat too much of this matter? Not that it was other than grave, in good sooth; yet methinks it had been better had you not let Blanche see that you counted it of so much import. I fear she shall now go about to count herself of mighty importance. Childre do, when you make much of their deeds; and Blanche is but a child yet, and will so be for another year or twain. Now this young man is safe hence, I would say, Fetch her home. And let none ever name the matter afore her again; let bygones be bygones. Only give her to see that you account of her as a silly child for the past, but yet that you have hope she shall be wiser in the future."

"Well, herein I see not with you," said Lady Enville. "I had thought it rare good fortune for Blanche to wed with Don John."

Sir Thomas moved uneasily, but did not answer. Philippa turned and looked at the speaker.

"That was like," she said quietly. But neither of her hearers knew how much meaning lay beneath the words.

"And what think you touching Lucrece?" asked Mrs Tremayne the next day, when Philippa was again at the parsonage.

"I ne'er had a fancy for snakes, Thekla."

"Then you count her deceitful? That is it which I have feared."

"Have a care," said Philippa. "But what is to fear? A care of what?"

"Nay, what feareth any from a snake? That he should sting, I take it.

He may do it while you be looking. But he is far more like to do it when you be not."

The evening before the two sisters were to return to Enville Court, Mrs Tremayne and Clare were sitting alone in the parlour. Clare had manoeuvred to this end, for she wanted to ask her friend a question; and she knew there was a particular period of the evening when Mr Tremayne and Arthur were generally out, and Lysken was occupied elsewhere. Mrs Rose and Blanche remained to be disposed of; but the former relieved Clare's mind by trotting away with a little basket of creature comforts to see a sick woman in the village; and it was easy to ask Blanche to leave her private packing until that period. But now that Clare had got Mrs Tremayne to herself, she was rather shy in beginning her inquiries.

She framed her first question in a dozen different ways, rejected all for various reasons, and finally--feeling that her opportunity was sliding away--came out with that one which she had most frequently cast aside.

"Mistress Tremayne, account you it alway sinful to harbour discontent?"

"I could much better answer thee, dear maid, if I knew the fountain whence thy question springeth."

This was just the point which Clare was most shy of revealing. But she really wanted Mrs Tremayne's opinion; and with an effort she conquered her shyness.

"Well,--suppose it had pleased G.o.d to cast my lot some whither, that the daily work I had to do was mighty dislikeful to me; and some other maiden that I knew, had that to do withal which I would have loved dearly:--were it ill for me to wish that my business had been like hers?"

"Whom enviest thou, my child?" asked Mrs Tremayne very gently.

Clare blushed, and laughed.

"Well, I had not meant to say the same; but in very deed I do envy Lysken."

"And wherefore, dear heart?"

"Because her work is so much higher and better than mine."

Mrs Tremayne did not answer for a moment. Then she said,--"Tell me, Clare,--suppose thy father's serving-men and maids should begin to dispute amongst themselves,--if Sim were to say, 'I will no longer serve in the hall, because 'tis n.o.bler work to ride my master's horses:' or Kate were to say, 'I will no longer sweep the chambers, sith 'tis higher matter to dress my master's meat:' and Nell,--'I will no longer dress the meat, sith it were a greater thing to wait upon my mistress in her chamber,'--tell me, should the work of the house be done better, or worser?"

"Worser, no doubt."

"Well, dear heart, and if so, why should G.o.d's servants grudge to do the differing works of their Master? If thou art of them, thy Master, hath set thee thy work. He saw what thou wert fit to do, and what was fit to be done of thee; and the like of Lysken. He hath set thee where thou art; and such work as thou hast to do there is His work for thee. Alway remembering,--if thou art His servant."

Clare did not quite like that recurring conjunction. It sounded as if Mrs Tremayne doubted the fact.

"You think me not so?" she asked in a low voice.

"I hope thou art, dear Clare. But thou shouldst know," was the searching answer.

There was silence after that, till Clare said, with a sigh, "Then you reckon I ought not to wish for different work?"

"I think not, my maid, that wishing and discontent be alway one and the same. I may carry a burden right willingly and cheerfully, and yet feel it press hard, and be glad to lay it down. Surely there is no ill that thou shouldest say to thy Father, 'If it be Thy will, Father, I would fain have this or that.' Only be content with His ordering, if He should answer, 'Child, thou hast asked an evil thing.'"