"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."

Her cheeks were glowing as she said this, and she looked quite defiant,
as if challenging these disagreeable mothers and aunts of
fortune-hunting youths to cast unpleasant aspersions on a friend whom
she had taken under her special protection.

Sir Marmaduke looked at her keenly; a deep frown settled between his
eyes at sight of her enthusiasm. His face suddenly looked older, and
seemed more dour, more repellent than before.

"Sue hath such a romantic temperament," he said dryly, speaking between
his teeth and as if with an effort. "Lambert's humble origin has fired
her imagination. He has no parents and his elder brother is the
blacksmith down at Acol; his aunt, who seems to have had charge of the
boys ever since they were children, is just a common old woman who lives
in the village--a strict adherent, so I am told, of this new sect, whom
Justice Bennet of Derby hath so justly nicknamed 'Quakers.' They talk
strangely, these people, and believe in a mighty queer fashion. I know