The Family Council

The lady who sat opposite to him was several years
younger, still upright, brisk and active, though her hair was milk-
white; but her eyes were of undimmed azure, and her complexion
still retained a beauteous pink and white. She was highly
educated, and had been the friend of Margaret Roper and her
sisters, often sharing their walks in the bright Chelsea garden.
Indeed, the musk-rose in her own favourite nook at Hurst Walwyn was
cherished as the gift of Sir Thomas himself.

Near her sat sister, Cecily St. John, a professed nun at Romsey
till her twenty-eight year, when, in the dispersion of convents,
her sister's home had received her. There had she continued, never
exposed to tests of opinion, but pursuing her quiet course
according to her Benedictine rule, faithfully keeping her vows, and
following the guidance of the chaplain, a college friend of Bishop
Ridley, and rejoicing in the use of the vernacular prayers and
Scriptures. When Queen Mary had sent for her to consider of the
revival of convents, her views had been found to have so far
diverged from those of the Queen that Lord WalWyn was thankful to
have her safe at home again; and yet she fancied herself firm to
old Romsey doctrine. She was not learned, like Lady Walwyn, but
her knowledge in all needlework and confectionery was consummate,
so that half the ladies in Dorset and Wilts longed to send their
daughters to be educated at Hurst Walwyn. Her small figure and
soft cheeks had the gentle contour of a dove's form, nor had she
lost the conventual serenity of expression; indeed it was curious
that, let Lady Walwyn array her as she would, whatever she wore
bore a nunlike air. Her silken farthingales hung like serge robes,
her ruffs looked like mufflers, her coifs like hoods, even
necklaces seemed rosaries, and her scrupulous neatness enhanced the
pure unearthly air of all belonging to her.