"Sh—sh!—sh!—'tis a deadly secret. Barbara, Alicia, come a little closer."
She paused a moment, whilst all three of them crowded round Her Grace of Lincoln's chair.
Then Ursula said solemnly—
"The Queen is in love with my future husband!"
The Duchess of Lincoln nearly fell backwards in a faint.
"Ursula!" she gasped.
"Nay, that's not the secret," continued Ursula, quite unperturbed, "for that is town-talk, and every one at Court knows that she won't let him see me for fear he should fall in love with me. And my lord Cardinal is furious because he wants the Queen to marry Philip of Spain, and he is wishing His Grace of Wessex down there, where all naughty Cardinals go."
"Child! . . . child! . . ."
"But the days are slipping by, darling," added the young girl, with just a shade of seriousness in her eyes. "All these intriguers may fight as much as they like, but if I do not wed His Grace of Wessex, if he should be inveigled into marrying the Queen, I must to the convent. My dear father made me swear it on his deathbed, when I was beside myself with grief, and scarce knew what I did. 'There is but one true gentleman to whom I would trust my child,' he said to me; 'swear to me, Ursula, that if Wessex claims you not, that you will never marry any one else, but spend your days in happy singleness in a convent. Swear it, little one.' He was so ill, so dear, I swore and——"
"The convent is the proper place for such a feather-brain as yourself," concluded the Duchess with as gruff a voice as she could command.