"That's a man all over!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, with a little stamp of her foot. "When he cannot answer a woman's reasoning, trust him to pay her a compliment, and reckon that shall serve her turn, poor fool, a deal better than the other." Sir _Robert_ laughed as though he were rarely diverted. "_Dulcie_ may do your bidding an' she list," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "but trust me, so shall not I." "Mistress _Joyce_, therein will I trust you as fully as may be," saith he, yet laughing. "Yet, I pray you, satisfy my curious fantasy, and tell me wherein you count _Paul_ a friend to the women?" "By reason that he told them plainly they were happier unwed," saith Aunt _Joyce_: "and find me an other man that so reckoneth. Mark you, he saith not better, nor holier, nor wiser; but happier. That is it which most men will deny." "Doth it not in any wise depend on the woman?" saith Sir _Robert_, with a comical set of his lips. "It depends on the man, a sight more," saith she. "But, my mistress, bethink you of the saw--`A man is what a woman makes him.'" "Oh, is he so?" crieth Aunt _Joyce_, in scorn. "She's a deal more what he makes her. `A good _Jack_, a good _Gill_!' Saws cut two ways, Sir _Robert_." "Six of one, and half-a-dozen of the other," saith _Father_. "_Lettice_, come thou and aid me," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Here be two men set on one poor woman." "Nay, I am under obedience, _Joyce_," saith _Mother_, laughing. "Forsooth, so thou art!" quoth she. "_Bess_, give me thine help." "I am beholden to you, Mistress _Joyce_," saith Cousin _Bess_, "but I love not to meddle in no frays of other folk. I were alway learned that women were the meaner sort o' th' twain." "Go thy ways, thou renegade!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Come, _Joyce_, shall I aid thee?" quoth _Father_. "Nay, thou hypocrite, I'll not have thee," saith she. "Thou shouldst serve me as the wooden horse did the Trojans." And she added some _Latin_ words, the which I wist not. [Note 3.] "`_Femme qui parle Latin Ne vient jamais a bonne fin_.'" saith Sir _Robert_ under his voice. "That is because you like to have it all to yourselves," saith Aunt _Joyce_, turning upon him. "There be _few_ men would not fainer have a woman foolish than learned. Tell me wherefore?" "I dispute the major," quoth he, and shaked his head. "Then I'll tell you," pursueth she. "Because--to give you _French_ for your _French_--`_Parmi les aveugles, les borgnes sont rois_.' You love to keep atop of us; and it standeth to reason that the lower down we are the less toil shall you have in climbing." "`Endless genealogies, which breed doubts more than godly edifying,'" saith _Father_. "Are we not landed in somewhat like them?" "Well, Sir _Robert_, I'll forgive you!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, and held forth her hand. "But mark you, I am right and you are wrong, for all that."