“How?”
“Well, for the first two weeks after you went away she was joy itself; no face so radiant, no eyes as brilliant, no wit as flashing, in the whole of Alva’s court, and there are many beautiful women in Brussels. And then—”
“Well, what then?”
“Then she grew sad, and for a month or so had a very hard time of it.”
“What caused her grief? Do you know?”
“Yes, I can guess.”
“What?”
“You!”
“I!”
“Yes. Word came from Middelburg that you had been behaving very badly, my boy,” says Oliver, with a little chuckle.