"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.