"I marvel, Sir William," says she, "that you will have your servant ever
at your elbow, so that a body hath never a word with you alone. I would
not presume to censure, but certainly my father's chaplain does not so
intrude himself into company; and 'tis difficult for persons of quality to
speak their mind in such underbred society."

"Why, your Ladyship," says he, laughing, "be gracious to my young Levite.
He is not of the common sort of creeping parson, but I dare venture will
yet be heard of. Simple as your Ladyship thinks him, he is at home in all
company, be it great or little; and I had not known him three year when I
sent him to London on a secret errand--and I was not mistook."

"Such persons," says the lady, very haughty, "are paid to exert themselves
in our service. We may expect no less."

So it passed; but a busybody carried this, with other tattle, to Mr Swift,
who questioned me also. I looked to see him mighty angry; and first his
brows frowned, and then he laughed, as if a thought pleased him.

"Said she so, the painted jade! What, Madam Stella, shall not a stinking
pride be taught its place by the Church? I'll give the hussy her lesson."

That very day, my Lady Mary sitting to embroidery on the great terrace in
the shade, and I holding her threads, she threw Mr Swift a word as he
past, to ask the name of the nymph that was turned to a bush to escape the
pursuit of Apollo; for that was the subject of her needle.

"Daphne, Madam," says he. "Have I your permission to look upon your work?
Oh, fie!--this bush--'t is a rosebush, and Daphne became a laurel. Sure, a