What was the occult power within this man—whom no one liked, yet who seemed mysteriously to fascinate all who came inside the charmed circle of his personal influence? Instead of answering defiantly, as she had done to Isabel, Custance contented herself with the meek response—
“She so did, Sire.”
“You told her all?” pursued the King, turning his keen eyes upon Isabel.
“To speak very truth, Sire,” hesitated Isabel, “I did leave one little matter.”
She seemed reluctant to confess the omission; and Custance’s face paled visibly at this prospect of further sorrow in store.
“Which was that, fair Cousin?”
Henry was a perfect master of the art of expressing displeasure without any use of words to convey it. Isabel knew in an instant that he considered her to have failed in her mission.
“Under your gracious leave, my Liege,” she said deprecatingly, “had your Grace seen how my fair cousin took that which I did say, it had caused you no marvel that I stayed ere more were spoken.”
“We blamed you not, fair Cousin,” responded Henry coldly. “What matter left you unspoken?”
“An’ it like your Grace to pardon me, touching her presence desired—”