The older woman’s voice rose. “Doesn’t fire warm you, and good sweet sack? Don’t you lie soft? Don’t you have jewels and gold work and silk of Cyprus? Don’t gentlemen and rich merchants come for your stroking? Haven’t you got a garden where you can walk and a tight house, and a pearl net for your hair, and a velvet shoe? Doesn’t Montjoy protect you for old time’s sake--even though now the fool goes off after religion? Religion! Don’t you go to Mass and give candles--wax ones--and doesn’t Father Edwin, your cousin, make all safe for you in that quarter? Oh, the Saints! There’s king’s power, and there’s priest’s power, and there’s woman’s power! World slurs you and world loves you, Morgen and Morgen! Go to! Fie on you! Shorten your long face! Where’s falseness--anything to speak of, that is? Where’s coldness and darkness? The world’s been a good world to you, mistress, ever since you danced at the Great Fair here, and Warham House saw you and took you and taught you! A pretty good world!” “As worlds go--poor, dumb things! Yes, I say they are poor, dumb things! Light the candles!” The large woman drew close the curtains over the window that gave upon the street and lighted the candles. There was wood laid within the fireplace. She regarded this. “It’s a cool June--and, Our Lady! we seem to need mirth here to-night! Fire and wine--wine and fire!” She left the room for the kitchen, and returning with a flaming brand, struck it amid the cold wood. All took fire. “Better, isn’t it? I hear company’s footfall!” The company thought the oak room shining to-night. They thought Morgen Fay fair and joyous. Sir Robert Somerville was yet in love,--none of her old loves went wholly out of love. But he was not so fathoms deep in love as once he had been. He had left the miser stage and now he was at the expansive, willing to feed pride by showing his easy wealth. He moved a tall man of forty-odd, with a quick, odd grimacing face, not unpleasing. He had a decisive voice and more gesture than was the country’s custom. With him came a guest in his house to whom he wished to show the oak casket and the gem it contained, a cousin from the other side of England, Sir Humphrey Somerville, to wit,--and Master Thomas Bettany, son and heir of the richest merchant in Middle Forest. They kissed Morgen Fay who put on magic and welcomed them. It was as though the river outside, that had been lead to ebony, ran now through faint silver back to rose.