"But, _Aunt_, you are hard on a man. See you not, all the fellows think you a coward if you dare not spend freely and act boldly? Ay, and a miser belike."

"Is it worser to be thought a coward than to be one?" saith _Father_.

"Who be 'all the fellows'?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "My Lord of _Burleigh_ and my Lord _Hunsdon_ and Sir _Francis Walsingham_, I'll warrant you."

"Now, _Aunt_!" saith _Walter_. "Not grave old men like they! My Lord of _Oxenford_, that is best-dressed man of all the Court, and spendeth an hundred pound by the year in gloves and perfumes only--"

"Eh, _Wat_!" cries _Helen_: and _Mother_,--"_Walter_, my dear boy!"

"'Tis truth, I do ensure you," saith he: "and Sir _Walter Raleigh_, one of the first wits in all _Europe_: and young _Blount_, that is high in the Queen's Majesty's favour: and my young Lord of _Ess.e.x_, unto whom she showeth good countenance. 'Tis not possible to lower one's self in the eyes of such men as these--and a.s.suredly I should were I less free-handed."

"My word, _Wat_, but thou hast fallen amongst an ill pack of hounds!"

saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"Then it is possible, or at least more possible, to lower thyself in our eyes, _Wat_?" saith _Father_.

"_Father_, you make me to feel 'shamed of myself!" crieth _Wat_. "Yet, think you, so should they when I were among them, if I should hold back from these very deeds."

"Then is there no difference, my son," asks _Father_, still as gentle as ever, "betwixt being 'shamed for doing the right, and for doing the wrong?"

"But--pardon me, Sir--you are not in it!" saith _Walter_. "Do but think, what it should feel to be counted singular, and as a speckled bird, unlike all around."

"Well!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, fervently, "I am five and fifty years of age this morrow; and have in my time done many a foolish deed: but I do thank Heaven that I was never so left to mine own folly as to feel any ambition to make one of a row of b.u.t.tons!"

I laughed--I could not choose.

"You are a woman, _Aunt_," saith _Wat_. "'Tis different with you."

"I pay you good thanks, Master _Walter Louvaine_," quoth she, "for the finest compliment was ever paid me yet. I am a woman (wherefore I thank G.o.d), and therefore (this young gentleman being testimony) have more bravery of soul than a man. For that is what thy words come to, Master _Wat_; though I reckon thou didst not weigh them afore utterance.--Now, _Aubrey_, what art thou about to do with this lad?"

"I fear there is but one thing to do," saith _Father_, and he fetched an heavy sigh. "But let us reach the inwards of the matter first. I reckon, _Walter_, thou hast many debts outstanding?"

"I am afeared so, Sir," saith _Wat_,--which, to do him credit, did look heartily ashamed of himself.

"To what sum shall they reach, thinkest?"

_Wat_ fiddled with his chain, and fidgetted on his seat, and _Father_ had need of some patience (which he showed rarely) ere he gat at the full figures. It did then appear that our young gallant should have debts outstanding to the amount of nigh two thousand pounds.

"But, _Wat_," saith _Helen_, looking sore puzzled, "how _couldst_ thou spend two thousand pounds when thou hadst but sixty-two in these four years?"

"Maidens understand not the pledging of credit," saith _Ned_. "See thou, _Nell_: I am a shop-keeper, and sell silk gowns; and thou wouldst have one that should cost an angel--"

"Eh, _Ned_!" crieth she, and all we laughed.

"Thou shalt not buy a silk gown under six angels at the very least.

Leastwise, not clear silk: it should be all full of gum."

"Go to!" saith _Ned_. "Six angels, then--sixty if thou wilt. (Dear heart, what costly matter women be! I'll don my wife in camlet.) Well, in thy purse is but two angels. How then shalt thou get thy gown?"

"Why, how can I? I must do without it," saith she.

"Most sweet _Helen_; sure thou earnest straight out of the Garden of _Eden_! Dear heart, folks steer not in that quarter now o' days. Thou comest to me for the gown, and I set down thy name in my books, that thou owest me six angels: and away goest thou with the silk, and turnest forth o' _Sunday_ as fine as a fiddler."

"Well--and then?" saith she.

"Then, with _Christmas_ in cometh my bill: and thou must pay the same."

"But if I have no money?"

"Then I lose six angels."

"_Father_, is that honest?" saith _Helen_.

"If thou hadst no reason to think thou shouldst have the money by _Christmas_, certainly not, my maid," he made answer.

"Not honest, Sir!" saith _Wat_.

"Is it so?" quoth _Father_.

"Oh, look you, words mean different in the Court," crieth Aunt _Joyce_, "from what they do in _Derwent_-dale and at _Minster Lovel_. If we pay not our debts here, we go to prison; and folks do but say, Served him right! But if they pay them not there, why, the poor tailor and jeweller must feed their starving childre on the sight of my Lord of _Ess.e.x'_ gold lace, and the smell of my Lord of _Oxenford_ his perfumes.

Do but think, what a rare supper they shall have!"

"Now, hearken, _Walter_," saith _Father_. "I must have thee draw up a list of all thy debts, what sum, for what purpose, and to whom owing: likewise a list of all debts due to thee."

"But you would not ask for loans back, Sir?" cries _Wat_.

"That depends on whom they were lent to," answers _Father_. "If to a poor man that can scarce pay his way, no. But if to my cousin of _Oxenford_ and such like gallants that have plenty wherewith to pay, then ay."

"They would think it so mean, Sir!" saith _Walter_, diseasefully.

"Let them so do," saith _Father_. "I shall sleep quite as well."

"But really, Sir, I could not remember all."

"Then set down what thou canst remember."

_Walter_ looked as if he would liefer do aught else.

"And, my son," saith _Father_, so gently that it was right tender, "I must take thee away from the Court."

"Sir!" crieth _Walter_, in a voice of very despair.

"I can see thou art not he that can stand temptation. I had hoped otherwise. But 'tis plain that this temptation, at the least, hath been too much for thee."

_Wat's_ face was as though his whole life should be ruined if so were.

"Come, _Wat_, take heart o' grace!" cries _Ned_. "I wouldn't cruise in those muddy waters if thou shouldst pay me two thousand pound to do the same. Think but of men scenting themselves--with aught but a stiff sea-breeze. Pish! And as to dancing, cap in hand, afore a woman, and calling her thine _Excellency_, or thy _Floweriness_, or thy Some-Sort-of-Foolery, why, I'd as lief strike to a _Spanish_ galleon, very nigh. When I want a maid to wed me, an' I ever do--at this present I don't--I shall walk straight up to her like a man, and say, 'Mistress _Cicely_ (or whatso she be named), I love you; will you wed me?' And if she cannot see an honest man's love, or will not take it, without all that flummery, why, she isn't worth a pail o' sea-water: and I can get along without her, and I will."