The ingenuous flatteries of her little court irritated her now: she no longer felt either amused or pleased by the extravagant compliments lavished upon her beauty and skill by portly Squire John, by Sir Timothy Harrison or the more diffident young Squire Pyncheon. "Of a truth, I sometimes wish, Lady Sue, that I could find out if you have any faults," remarked Squire Boatfield unctuously. "Nay, Squire," she retorted sharply, "pray try to praise me to my female friends." In vain did Mistress Pyncheon admonish her son to be more bold in his wooing. "You behave like a fool, Oliver," she said meekly. "But, Mother ..." "Go, make yourself pleasing to her ladyship." "But, Mother ..." "I pray you, my son," she retorted with unusual acerbity, "do you want a million or do you not?" "But, Mother ..." "Then go at once and get it, ere that fool Sir Timothy or the odious Boatfield capture it under your very nose." "But, Mother ..." "Go! say something smart to her at once ... talk about your gray mare ... she is over fond of horses ..." Then as the young Squire, awkward and clumsy in his manner, more accustomed to the company of his own servants than to that of highborn ladies, made sundry unfortunate attempts to enchain the attention of the heiress, his worthy mother turned with meek benignity to Sir Marmaduke. "A veritable infatuation, good Sir Marmaduke," she said with a sigh, "quite against my interests, you know. I had no thought to see the dear lad married so soon, nor to give up my home at the Dene yet, in favor of a new mistress. Not but that Oliver is not a good son to his mother--such a good lad!--and such a good husband he would be to any girl who ..." "A strange youth that secretary of yours, Sir Marmaduke," here interposed Dame Harrison in her loud, dictatorial voice, breaking in on Mistress Pyncheon's dithyrambs, "modest he appears to be, and silent too: a paragon meseems!" She spoke with obvious sarcasm, casting covert glances at Lady Sue to see if she heard. Sir Marmaduke shrugged his shoulders. "Lambert is very industrious," he said curtly. "I thought secretaries never did anything but suck the ends of their pens," suggested Mistress Pyncheon mildly. "Sometimes they make love to their employer's daughter," retorted Dame Harrison spitefully, for Lady Sue was undoubtedly lending an ear to the conversation now that it had the young secretary for object. She was not watching Squire Boatfield who was wielding the balls just then with remarkable prowess, and at this last remark from the portly old dame, she turned sharply round and said with a strange little air of haughtiness which somehow became her very well: "But then you see, mistress, Master Lambert's employer doth not possess a daughter of his own--only a ward ... mayhap that is the reason why his secretary performs his duties so well in other ways."