"Was it not my duty?"
"Mayhap—mayhap—and what did His Majesty say?"
"Oh! he was pleased to take the matter more lightly—but then there is the Queen Mother—and—"
"Who else? I pray you, who else?" said Mistress Julia now with renewed acerbity. "His Majesty, His Royal Highness, the Queen—half London, to boot—to know of my discomfiture and shame—"
Her voice again broke in a sob, she buried her face in her hands, and tears which mayhap had more affinity to anger than to sorrow escaped freely from between her fingers. In a moment the young man was at her feet. Gone was his apathy, his sullenness now. He was on one knee and his two arms encircled the quivering shoulders of the fair, enraged one.
"Mistress, Mistress," he entreated, whilst his eager lips sought the close proximity of her shell-like ear; "Julia, my beloved, in the name of the Holy Virgin, I pray you dry your tears. You break my heart, fair one. You—O God!" he added vehemently, "am I not the most miserable of men? What sin have I committed that such a wretched fate should overwhelm me? I love you and I have made you cry—"
"Nay, my lord," whispered Julia through her tears, "an you loved me—"
She paused with well-calculated artfulness, whilst he murmured with pathetic and tender reproach:
"An I loved you! Is not my heart bound to your dainty feet? my soul fettered by the glance of your eyes? Do you think, Mistress, that I can ever bear to contemplate the future now, when for days, nay! weeks and months, ever since I first beheld your exquisite loveliness, I have ever pictured myself only as your slave, ever thought of you only as my wife? That old castle over in Hertfordshire, once so inimical to me, I have learnt to love it of late because I thought you would be its mistress; I treasured every tree because your eyes would behold their beauty; I guarded with jealous care every footpath in the park because I hoped that some day soon your fairy feet would wander there."