This Mistress Satchell swiftly countered with the affirmation:
"He is much," she screamed, and her face was poppy-red with passion, but Tiffany, retreating warily and persistent to tease, was about to start some fresh disclaimer of the Puritan's merits when she caught sight through a yew arch vista of a gown of gold and gray, and her tongue faltered.
"Our lady," she whispered to Mistress Satchell, who had barely time to compose her ruffled countenance when Brilliana came through the yew arch and paused on the edge of the pleasaunce surveying the belligerents with an amused smile.
"What are you two brawling about?" she asked, as she moved slowly towards the marble seat. Tiffany thrust in the first word.
"Goody Satchell will vex me with praise of the Parliament man."
By this time Brilliana had seated herself, observing her vehement shes with amusement. She turned a face of assumed gravity upon the elder.
"So, so, Mistress Satchell, have you turned Roundhead all of a sudden?"
Mrs. Satchell shook her head at Brilliana and her fist at Tiffany.
"Tiffany is a minx, but I am an honest woman; and as I am an honest woman, there are honest qualities in this honest Puritan."
Brilliana knew as much herself and fretted at the knowledge. It cut against the grain of her heart to admit that a rebel could have any redemption by gifts. But she still questioned Mistress Satchell smoothly, thinking the while of a man intrenched behind a table, one man against six.
Mistress Satchell was voluble of collected encomiums.
"Why, Thomas Coachman swears he is a master of horse-manage, and he has taught Luke Gardener a new method of grafting roses, and Simon Warrener swears he knows as much of hawking as any man in Oxford or Warwick."
She paused, out of breath. Brilliana, leaning forward with an air of infinite gravity, commented:
"It were more to your point, surely, if the gentleman had skill in cook-craft."
Mistress Satchell was not to be outdone; she clapped her hands together noisily and shrilled her triumph.
"There, too, he meets you. After breakfast this morning, when I asked him how he fared, he overpraised my table, and he gave me a recipe for grilling capons in the Spanish manner--well, you shall know, if you do but live long enough."