“Well, I cannot quite—. Hush! here she comes.”
And for the second time that day in stalked the Countess, and sat down on the curule chair which Mistress Underdone set for her, looking like a judge, and a very stern one, too. In another minute the culprit made his appearance, in charge of Sir Lambert Aylmer.
“Now, De Gernet, what means this?” irascibly demanded his mistress.
“Lady, it means not disobedience to you, nor any displeasance done to this young damsel”—and De Gernet turned and bowed to Roisia. “This it means, that I dearly love another of your Ladyship’s damsels, and I do most humbly and heartily crave your permission to wed with her.”
“What, Felicia de Fay?” said the Countess.
“Under your Ladyship’s pleasure and her pardon, no.”
Felicia’s face changed evilly.
“But who, then? There is none other.”
“Let my Lady be pleased to pardon me. There is one other—Heliet Pride.”
The faces in the bower just then might have furnished a study for an artist. Those of Clarice and Olympias expressed surprise mixed with some pleasure; so did Mistress Underdone’s, but the degree of both was intense. The Countess looked half vexed and wholly astonished, with a little contempt superadded. Felicia’s face foreboded nothing but ill to either Ademar or Heliet.