She did not, however, fail in the duties of civility, and earnestly,
but in vain, pressed Mistress Margaret to partake her dainties. The
damsel declined the invitation.
"At least pledge me in a glass of sack," said Dame Ursula; "I have
heard my grandame say, that before the gospellers came in, the old
Catholic father confessors and their penitents always had a cup of
sack together before confession; and you are my penitent."
"I shall drink no sack, I am sure," said Margaret; "and I told you
before, that if you cannot find out what ails me, I shall never have
the heart to tell it."
So saying, she turned away from Dame Ursula once more, and resumed her
musing posture, with her hand on her elbow, and her back, at least one
shoulder, turned towards her confidant.
"Nay, then," said Dame Ursula, "I must exert my skill in good
earnest.--You must give me this pretty hand, and I will tell you by
palmistry, as well as any gipsy of them all, what foot it is you halt
upon."
"As if I halted on any foot at all," said Margaret, something
scornfully, but yielding her left hand to Ursula, and continuing at
the same time her averted position.
"I see brave lines here," said Ursula, "and not ill to read neither--
pleasure and wealth, and merry nights and late mornings to my Beauty,
and such an equipage as shall shake Whitehall. O, have I touched you
there?--and smile you now, my pretty one?--for why should not he be
Lord Mayor, and go to Court in his gilded caroch, as others have done
before him?"
"Lord Mayor? pshaw!" replied Margaret.
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