"'Tis not time," answered the old nurse acidly, taking her tone from his
own. "But there is one, but an hour old, and my lady--"

"Be damned to her!" quoth Sir Jeoffry savagely. "A ninth one--and 'tis
nine too many. 'Tis more than man can bear. She does it but to spite
me."

"'Tis ill treatment for a gentleman who wants an heir," the old woman
answered, as disrespectful of his spouse as he was, being a time-serving
crone, and knowing that it paid but poorly to coddle women who did not as
their husbands would have them in the way of offspring. "It should have
been a fine boy, but it is not, and my lady--"

"Damn her puling tricks!" said Sir Jeoffry again, pulling at his horse's
bit until the beast reared.

"She would not let me rest until I came to you," said the nurse
resentfully. "She would have you told that she felt strangely, and
before you went forth would have a word with you."

"I cannot come, and am not in the mood for it if I could," was his
answer. "What folly does she give way to? This is the ninth time she
hath felt strangely, and I have felt as squeamish as she--but nine is
more than I have patience for."

"She is light-headed, mayhap," said the nurse. "She lieth huddled in a
heap, staring and muttering, and she would leave me no peace till I
promised to say to you, 'For the sake of poor little Daphne, whom you
will sure remember.' She pinched my hand and said it again and again."