“Since he is thus scrupulous concerning purity of lineage,” said Eveline, “perhaps he may call to mind, what so good a herald as he is cannot fail to know — that I am of Saxon strain by my father’s mother.”
“Oh,” replied Rose, “he will forgive that blot in the heiress of the Garde Doloureuse.”
“Fie, Rose,” answered her mistress, “thou dost him wrong in taxing him with avarice.”
“Perhaps so,” answered Rose; “but he is undeniably ambitious; and Avarice, I have heard, is Ambition’s bastard brother, though Ambition be sometimes ashamed of the relationship.”
“You speak too boldly, damsel,” said Eveline; “and, while I acknowledge your affection, it becomes me to check your mode of expression.”
“Nay, take that tone, and I have done,” said Rose.—“To Eveline, whom I love, and who loves me, I can speak freely — but to the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, the proud Norman damsel, (which when you choose to be you can be,) I can curtsy as low as my station demands, and speak as little truth as she cares to hear.”
“Thou art a wild but a kind girl,” said Eveline; “no one who did not know thee would think that soft and childish exterior covered such a soul of fire. Thy mother must indeed have been the being of feeling and passion you paint her; for thy father — nay, nay, never arm in his defence until he be attacked — I only meant to say, that his solid sense and sound judgment are his most distinguished qualities.”
“And I would you would avail yourself of them, lady,” said Rose.
“In fitting things I will; but he were rather an unmeet counsellor in that which we now treat of,” said Eveline.
“You mistake him,” answered Rose Flammock, “and underrate his value. Sound judgment is like to the graduated measuring-wand, which, though usually applied only to coarser cloths, will give with equal truth the dimensions of Indian silk, or of cloth of gold.”
“Well — well — this affair presses not instantly at least,” said the young lady. “Leave me now, Rose, and send Gillian the tirewoman hither — I have directions to give about the packing and removal of my wardrobe.”
“That Gillian the tirewoman hath been a mighty favourite of late,” said Rose; “time was when it was otherwise.”
“I like her manners as little as thou dost,” said Eveline; “but she is old Raoul’s wife — she was a sort of half favourite with my dear father — who, like other men, was perhaps taken by that very freedom which we think unseemly in persons of our sex; and then there is no other woman in the Castle that hath such skill in empacketing clothes without the risk of their being injured.”
“That last reason alone,” said Rose, smiling, “is, I admit, an irresistible pretension to favour, and Dame Gillian shall presently attend you.— But take my advice, lady — keep her to her bales and her mails, and let her not prate to you on what concerns her not.”
So saying, Rose left the apartment, and her young lady looked after her in silence — then murmured to herself —“Rose loves me truly; but she would willingly be more of the mistress than the maiden; and then she is somewhat jealous of every other person that approaches me.— It is strange, that I have not seen Damian de Lacy since my interview with the Constable. He anticipates, I suppose, the chance of his finding in me a severe aunt!”
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