Sir Jeoffry stood at the buffet with a flagon of ale in his hand, taking
his stirrup cup. At the sight of a stranger and one attired in the garb
of a chaplain, he scowled surprisedly.

"What's this?" quoth he. "What dost want, Clo? I have no leisure for a
sermon."

Mistress Clorinda went to the buffet and filled a tankard for herself and
carried it back to the table, on the edge of which she half sat, with one
leg bent, one foot resting on the floor.

"Time thou wilt have to take, Dad," she said, with an arch grin, showing
two rows of gleaming pearls. "This gentleman is my Lord Twemlow's
chaplain, whom he sends to exhort you, requesting you to have the
civility to hear him."

"Exhort be damned, and Twemlow be damned too!" cried Sir Jeoffry, who had
a great quarrel with his lordship and hated him bitterly. "What does the
canting fool mean?"

"Sir," faltered the poor message-bearer, "his lordship hath--hath been
concerned--having heard--"

The handsome creature balanced against the table took the tankard from
her lips and laughed.

"Having heard thy daughter rides to field in breeches, and is an unseemly-
behaving wench," she cried, "his lordship sends his chaplain to deliver a
discourse thereon--not choosing to come himself. Is not that thy errand,
reverend sir?"