“Neither of us ever had the thought, far less the wish,” said Susan most sincerely.

“Well, thou wast ever a simple woman, Susan Talbot,” said the great lady, thereby meaning truthful, “so I will e’en take thy word for it, the more readily that I made contracts for both the lads when I was at court.  As to Dick Talbot not being fain to bestow her, I trow that is because ye have spent too much on your long-legged sons to be able to lay down a portion for her, though she be your only daughter.  Anan?”

For though this was quite true, Susan feeling that it was not the whole truth, made but faint response.  However, the Countess went on, expecting to overpower her with gratitude.  “The gentleman I mean is willing to take her in her smock, and moreover his wardship and marriage were granted to my Lord by her Majesty.  Thou knowest whom I mean.”

She wanted to hear a guess, and Susan actually foreboded the truth, but was too full of dismay and perplexity to do anything but shake her head as one puzzled.

“What think’st thou of Mr. Babington?” triumphantly exclaimed the Countess.

“Mr. Babington!” returned Susan.  “But he is no longer a ward!”

“No.  We had granted his marriage to a little niece of my Lord Treasurer’s, but she died ere coming to age.  Then Tom Ratcliffe’s wife would have him for her daughter, a mere babe.  But for that thou and thine husband have done good service while evil tongues kept me absent, and because the wench comes of our own blood, we are willing to bestow her upon him, he showing himself willing and content, as bents a lad bred in our own household.”

“Madam, we are much beholden to you and my Lord, but sure Mr. Babington is more inclined to the old faith.”

“Tush, woman, what of that?  Thou mayst say the same of half our Northern youth!  They think it grand to dabble with seminary priests in hiding, and talk big about their conscience and the like, but when they’ve seen a neighbour or two pay down a heavy fine for recusancy, they think better of it, and a good wife settles their brains to jog to church to hear the parson with the rest of them.”

“I fear me Cis is over young to settle any one’s mind,” said Susan.

“She is seventeen if she is a day,” said my Lady, “and I was a wedded wife ere I saw my teens.  Moreover, I will say for thee, Susan, that thou hast bred the girl as becomes one trained in my household, and unless she have been spoiled by resort to the Scottish woman, she is like to make the lad a moderately good wife, having seen nought of the unthrifty modes of the fine court dames, who queen it with standing ruffs a foot high, and coloured with turmeric, so please you, but who know no more how to bake a marchpane, or roll puff paste, than yonder messan dog!”

“She is a good girl,” said Susan, “but—­”