"Now, Arthur," said Philippa, turning to him bluntly, "come and let me look thee o'er." Arthur obeyed, with grave lips, but amused eyes. "Robin's eyes--Thekla's mouth--Father Rose's brow--Custance Tremayne's chin," she said, enumerating them rapidly. "If the inward answer the outward, lad, thou shouldst be a rare good one." "Then I fear it doth not so," said Arthur soberly, "Humbleness will do thee no hurt, lad.--Now, Thekla, let us have our four-hours. I could eat a baken brick wall. Ay me! dost mind thee of the junkets, in old days, at the Lamb?" "Thekla, I told thee afore, and I do it yet again,--women be flat fools. The biggest I know is Orige Enville. And in good sooth, that is much to say! She is past old Doll, at Crowe, that threw her kerchief over the candle to put it out. Blanche may be a step the better; methinks she is. But for all that, she is Orige Enville's daughter. I would as soon fetch my bodkin and pierce that child to the heart, as I would send her to the Court, where her blind bat of a mother would fain have her. 'Twere the kindlier deed of the twain. Lack-a-daisy! she would make shipwreck of life and soul in a month. Well, for Clare, then--I give thee to wit, Thekla, thou art that child's mother. Orige is not. She never was worth her salt. And she never will be. So the sooner thou win the maid hither, the better for her." "She doth abide hither, Mistress Philippa, even now." "Tush, child! I mean the sooner she weds with Arthur." "Weds with Arthur!" It was manifest that the idea had never entered Mrs Tremayne's head until Philippa put it there. "Prithee, wherefore no?" demanded the old lady coolly. "Orige means it. Mercy on us, Thekla Rose! art thou gone wood?" "Mrs Philippa! Who e'er told you my Lady Enville meant any such thing?" "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."