"Oh, there's a capital fellow at the Golden Fish," cried Aubrey. "His name is Tom Rookwood, and his sister Dorothy is the prettiest girl I have seen this month. I know nought of the Angel." "Ah!" said Hans, and shook his head, "I have seen the Angel." "And is he angelic?" responded Aubrey. "There be angels good and ill," Hans made answer. "Madam, I were best forewarn you--there's a tongue dwelleth there." "What manner of tongue, Hans?" said Lady Louvaine, smiling. "One that goes like a beggar's clap-dish," said he; "leastwise, it did all the while I was in the garden this morning. She greeted me o'er the wall, and would know who we were, and every one of our names, and what kin we were one to the other, and whence we came, and wherefore, and how long we looked to tarry--she should have asked me what we had to our breakfast, if I had not come in." "And how much toldest her?" inquired Temperance. "Not a word that I could help," answered Hans. "Indeed, that is the only comfort of her--that she asks questions so fast you can scarce slide in an answer. She was free enough with her information as well-- told me her name, and how many children she had, and that she paid three-and-fourpence the yard for her perpetuance gown." "And what is her name?" asked Faith. "Silence Abbott," said he. "She scarce answers to it, seemingly," replied Temperance. "Where made you acquaintance with your Tom Rookwood, Aubrey?" said his grandmother. "At the door," said he. "His father is a gentleman of Suffolk, a younger son of Rookwood of Coldham Hall. He has three sisters,--I saw not the other two; but I say, that Dorothy's a beauty!" "Well!" replied Temperance. "Folks say, `As mute as a fish'; but it seems to me the Golden Fish is well-nigh as talkative as the Angel. Mind thy ways, Aubrey, and get not thyself into no tanglements with no Dorothys. It shall be time enough for thee to wed ten years hence." "And have a care that Mr Rookwood be himself an upright and God-fearing man," added his Aunt Edith. "Oh, he's all right!" answered Aubrey, letting Dorothy go by. "He saith he can hit a swallow flying at eighty paces." "More shame for him!" cried Edith. "What for should he hit a swallow?" "He has promised to show me all sorts of things," added Aubrey. "Have a care," said Lady Louvaine, "that he lead thee not into the briars, my boy, and there leave thee."