"But I do not wish to be a nun," protested Ursula, as tears began to gather in her eyes, "and I do want to wed Wessex, who is handsome—and gallant—and witty—and—and," she added coquettishly, "when he sees me—I vow he'll not let me go to a convent either, so——"
She leant closer to the kind dowager and once more whispered confidentially in her ear.
"So, as the Queen is engaged in prayers for at least half an hour, I've sent His Grace word by one of the pages that the Duchess of Lincoln desired his presence in this chamber—here!"
But this was really past bearing.
"I! . . ." exclaimed the Duchess in horror. "I? . . . desire his presence? . . . Merciful heavens! what will His Grace think?"
Once more Ursula, like the veritable child that she was, was dancing like mad round the room, now alone, clapping her tiny hands together, then seizing one of her companions by the waist, she whirled with her, round and round, until she fell back breathless against the Duchess's chair. And all the while her tongue went prattling on, now talking at top speed, anon singing out the words in the madness of her glee.
"And he is coming, dear Duchess," she said. "'He'll attend upon Her Grace at once!' these were his words to that pet of a page, and he'll see me—and—and——"
Now she paused, kneeling beside her old friend, putting coaxing arms round the bulky figure of the kind soul.
"But don't tell him my name all at once, Duchess darling," she whispered entreatingly; "let him fall in love with me without knowing that I am his affianced bride—for that might prejudice him against me. Just mumble something when he asks my name, and let me do the rest. Give me another kiss, darling. Alicia—Alicia," she cried in feverish anxiety, "is my kerchief straight at the back? and—and—oh, my hair!"
Still in that same madly-excited mood, she ran to a small oval mirror which hung on one of the walls, close to the great bay window.