Dorothy began seriously to consider whether she should take the veil. Her disposition was a mixture of the satirical and the sentimental. There would be a good deal of _eclat_ about the proceeding. It was pleasant to be regarded as holier than other people. Nevertheless there were drawbacks; for Dorothy was not fond of hard scrubbing, and was uncommonly fond of venison and barberry pie. And she had a suspicion that rather more scrubbing than venison generally fell to the lot of the holy sisters of Saint Clare. But the idea of the implicit obedience to authority which would in that case be required of her decided Dorothy to remain "in the world." She thought there was more hope of managing a husband than a lady abbess. Nearly two years had passed away since Agnes had first heard Friar Laurence preach at Saint Paul's Cross, and once more Corpus Christi had come round. Since that time she had grown much in the spiritual life, though she had received no outward help beyond those rare Sunday readings, and her occasional interviews with the Friar. Though Corpus Christi was still "uncertainly" kept, it naturally fell in with Mistress Winter's new policy of veneered piety to be exceedingly respectful to all fasts and festivals. Accordingly she gave a grand banquet to some dozen acquaintances, and sent Agnes about her business. There was likely to be reading on a holy day, and Agnes bent her steps towards the Cathedral; but finding when she reached it that it was a little too early, she sat down on the steps of the Cross to wait. There was no one about; for most of those who cared to keep the feast did not care to hear sermons or Bible-readings; and Agnes was thinking so intently as hardly to be conscious whether she was alone or not. "Good morrow, friend!" said a voice beside her; and John Laurence sat down a little way from her on the steps. "Good morrow, Father," answered Agnes. "Agnes, I would seek thy counsel." Agnes looked up in astonishment. He seek her counsel! Was it not she who had always sought his? "Good lack, Father!" she exclaimed in her surprise. John Laurence leaned his head thoughtfully on his hand, and made no further communication for some seconds. "I know a Black Friar, Agnes," he said, speaking slowly, as if weighing each word, "who seeth no cause, neither in God's Word, neither in common reason, wherefore priests should not be wedded men, as thou wist that many, these ten years past, have been. But he is yet loth to break his mind unto the maid, seeing that many perils do now seem to lie in the way of wedded priests, and he cannot tell if it were well done or no, that he should speak unto her. If penalty fell on him, being thus wed, it should not leave her scatheless. Tell me, now, how thinkest thou?-- should he do well to break his mind, or no? A maid may judge better than a man how a maid should take it."