work by six of the clock. I can yet do many little things that may save
you pain and toil, and I shall hear every even of your welfare."

"My dear lad, God bless thee!" replied Lady Louvaine, and laid her hand
upon his head.

Somewhat later in the evening came Aubrey, to whom all this concerning
Hans was news.

"Master Floriszoon, silkman, at the Black Boy in Holborn!" cried he,
laughingly. "Pray you, my worthy Master, how much is the best velvet by
the yard? and is green stamyn now in fashion? Whereto cometh galowne
lace the ounce? Let us hear thee cry, `What do you lack?' that we, may
see if thou hast the true tone. Hans Floriszoon, I thought thou hadst
more of the feeling of a gentleman in thee."

The blood flushed to Hans' forehead, yet he answered quietly enough.

"Can a gentleman not measure velvet? and what harm shall it work him to
know the cost of it?"

"That is a quibble," answered Aubrey, loftily. "For any gentleman to
soil his fingers with craft is a blot on his escocheon, and that you
know as well as I."

"For any man, gentle or simple, to soil his fingers with sin, or his
tongue with falsehood, is a foul blot on his escocheon," replied Hans,
looking Aubrey in the face.

Once more the blood mounted to Aubrey's brow, and he answered with some
warmth, "What mean you?"

"I did but respond to your words. Be mine other than truth?"

"Be not scurrilous, boy!" said Aubrey, angrily.

"Hans, I am astonished at you!" said Faith. "I know not how it is, but
since we came to London, you are for ever picking quarrels with Aubrey,
and seeking occasion against him. Are you envious of his better
fortune, or what is it moves you?"

It was a minute before Hans answered, and when he did so, his voice was
very quiet and low.

"I am sorry to have vexed you, Mrs Louvaine. If I know myself, I do
not envy Aubrey at all; and indeed I desire to pick no quarrel with any
man, and him least of any."

Then, turning to Aubrey, he held out his hand. "Forgive me, if I said
aught I should not."

Aubrey took the offered hand, much in the manner of an insulted monarch
to a penitent rebel. Lettice glanced just then at her Aunt Edith, and
saw her gazing from one to the other of the two, with a perplexed and
possibly displeased look on her face, but whether it were with Aubrey or
with Hans, Lettice could not tell. What made Aubrey so angry did not
appear.

Lettice's eyes went to her grandmother. On her face was