"Nay! 'tis an evil one, contrived out of malice by priests and old maids to enchain a woman who would rather be free to a man who speedily becomes bored."
"Nay! but when that woman is a queen?"
"Take off her crown and what is she, friend?" rejoined His Grace lightly. "A woman . . . to be desired, of course, to be loved, by all means—but at whose feet we should only recline long enough to make all other men envious, and one woman jealous."
Everingham frowned. He hated this flippant, careless mood of his friend. He did not understand it. To him the idea of such a possibility as a union with the Queen of England was so great, so wonderful, so superhuman almost, that he felt that the man who deserved such incommensurate honour should spend half his days on his knees, thanking God for such a glorious destiny.
That Wessex hung back when Mary herself was holding out her hand to him seemed to this enthusiast almost a sacrilege.
"But surely you have ambition, my lord?" he said at last.
"Ambition?" replied Wessex with characteristic light-heartedness. "Yes, one!—to be a boy again."
"Nay! an you were that now, you could not understand all that England expects of you. The Queen is harassed by the Cardinal and the Spanish ambassador. Philip but desires her hand in order to lay the iron heel of Spain upon the neck of submissive England. Your Grace can save us all. Mary loves you, would wed you to-morrow."
"And send me to the block for my infidelities—supposed or real—the day after, and be free to wed Philip or the Dauphin after all."
"I'll not believe it."