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It was the seventh of November, and a warm, close, damp day, inducing languor and depression in any person sensitive to the influence of weather. Custance and Maude had received no visit that day from any one but Bertram, who was busy preparing for his journey.
Custance, the grocer; Rose and Storey, the drapers, who occupied the fronts of no less than three houses, and had besides a "department" round the corner "exclusively devoted to tailoring"; Lucy, the bookseller, who printed the Cullerne Examiner, and had published several of Canon Parkyn's sermons, as well as a tractate by Dr Ennefer on the means adopted in Cullerne for the suppression of cholera during the recent outbreak; Calvin, the saddler; Miss Adcutt, of the toy-shop; and Prior, the chemist, who was also postmaster.
The other was a comfortable-looking girl of eighteen, rosy-cheeked, with dark eyes and hair. "Christ save you, holy sisters!" said Constance as they approached her. "Ye be of these parts, trow?" "Nay," answered the younger nun, "we be of the House of Minoresses beyond Aldgate; and though thine eyes have not told thee so much, Custance, I am Isabel of Pleshy." "Lady Isabel of Pleshy!
And the thought would not away, when we stand together, I and Harry of Bolingbroke, at that Bar of God's judgment, shall I desire in that day that I had said ay or nay to him now?" "Forsooth, Custance, I am not thy confessor. These be priests' matters not gear for women like thee and me." "What, child! is thy soul matter for the priest's concernment only?
Maude smiled back at Bertram Lyngern. "It pleased the Lady's Grace to make me of her especial following." "Long life to the Lady! Now will I cause thee to wit who be all my friends. "And who is he that is next unto the Lady Custance?" "On her right hand, the Lord Edward, and the Lord Richard at her left her brethren both." Lord Richard pleased Maude.
"Our Council thought good, fair Cousin, that you should be of the guests bidden unto the wedding of our cousin of Kent with the fair Lady Lucy of Milan." For one instant after the words were spoken, there was dead silence through the room the silence which marks the midst of a cyclone. The next moment, Custance rose, and faced the man who held her life in his hands.
That evening when she bade him good-night, he said to her: "I think I will go down to Grey Town to-morrow, Kath." "Are you strong enough?" she asked. "I don't want to see Sylvia Custance again. The old life must die, Kath. It seems rather hard, but it must be done. Make all arrangements like a dear girl."
Last, but not least, I had the two Censors, Sir Edward Cook and Sir Frank Swettenham. It was as if The Thunderer and Mercury had descended to play with mere mortals. My two naval experts, Admiral Cyprian Bridge and Admiral Custance, were among the most constant supporters of my Conversaziones. They proved very popular with the correspondents.
You must ask Mr Custance to get you a piece, and I will tell you later how it is to be cut, for there are rules about that too." He laughed to himself with a queer little chuckle. Cold lamb and mint sauce, with a piece of Stilton afterwards they would have an Oxford lunch; they would be young again, and undefiled. The stimulus that the Bishop's letter had brought Mr Sharnall soon wore off.
He was willing that Custance should be a friend; he refused him as Sylvia's husband. Custance was prepared to accept this as an adverse judgment, and to bow to Mr. Jackson's decision; for he was a man of honour. But, when he announced his intention to Sylvia, she refused to accept it. "By what right," she asked, "does my father take my happiness in his hands?
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