“Oh! that would indeed be a very strange sight,” she replied, laughing aloud. “You certainly have neither the turn nor the taste for the office. How would you ever manage to leave off the habit of frequenting our drawing-rooms? Truly we could not afford to lose you, and would certainly get up a general revolt, opposing your ordination, rather than be deprived of your invaluable society.” “You are very kind, madam,” said Cromwell; “but I should perhaps not be so ridiculous as you imagine. I should wear a grave and severe countenance and an air of the greatest austerity.” “Oh! I understand you now,” she replied; “you would not be converted; you would only become a hypocrite!” “I have a horror of hypocrites!” said Cromwell scornfully. “I wonder what you are, then?” thought Lady Rochford. “And I also,” replied Lady Anne. “I have a perfect detestation of hypocrites; it is better to be bad out and out!” “Is it true there has been a riot in the city?” asked Lady Rochford. “Yes, madam,” replied Cromwell; “but it was suppressed on the spot. It was only a hundred wool-spinners, carders, and drapers, who declared they were no longer able to live since the market of the Netherlands has been closed, and that they would soon starve if their old communications were not re-established. The most mutinous were arrested, the others were frightened and quickly dispersed.” “Oh!” said Lord Rochford, “there is nothing to fear from such a rabble as that; they are too much afraid of their necks. Let them clamor, and let us give ourselves no uneasiness on the subject. I met Sir Thomas More this morning going to the king with a petition which they had addressed to him yesterday.” “Why was he charged with the commission?” asked young Lady Dacre. “In virtue of his office as sheriff of the city,” replied Cromwell. “He constitutes, then, part of our city council?” she replied. “He is a man I have the greatest desire to know; they say such marvellous things of him, and I find his poetry full of charming and noble thoughts.” “I see,” replied Cromwell, “you have not read the spirited satire just written by Germain de Brie? It points out the perfectly prodigious faults of More’s productions. It is certainly an _anti-Morus_!” “I am inclined to think your opinion is prompted by a spirit of jealousy, Sir Cromwell,” answered Lady Rochford, sharply. “Read, madam,” she continued, addressing young Lady Sophia Dacre, “his _History of Richard III._; I suppose Sir Cromwell will, at least, accord some merit to that work?”