"Of a truth, but . . ."
"You do not deny that, meseems."
"I do not deny it, Your Majesty. I meant no harm."
"No harm! hark at the girl! Was there no harm then in your meeting certain gentlemen of our Court, under circumstances not altogether creditable to the fair fame of our English maidens?"
"Has the Marquis de Suarez dared. . . ."
"Nay! We did not name the Marquis, girl. Of a truth a gentleman will dare all, once a maid forgets her own dignity. But enough of this. I spoke a word of warning in your own interests. The Marquis—saving His Eminence's presence—has all the faults of his race. We warn you to cease this intercourse, which doth no credit to your modesty."
"Your Majesty . . ." retorted Ursula, proud and rebellious at this slight put upon her, and forgetting for the moment even the invisible presence of the man she loved.
But Mary Tudor, though at times capable of noble and just impulses, was far too blinded by her own passion to give up the joy of this victory over the girl who had become her rival. At any rate, Fate had done one great thing for her: she was the Queen, ruling as every Tudor had ruled, by divine right, absolutely, unquestionably.
She would not let the girl speak, she would see her go, humiliated, with head bent, forcibly swallowing her tears of shame. Mary only regretted this: that Wessex could not be witness of this scene.
She threw back her head, drew herself up to her full height, and pointed peremptorily up towards the gallery.