Kennington Palace was then in a neighbourhood at least as rural as Hampton Court is now. Sir Lewis led his youthful charge, followed by the attendants, into a pleasant chamber hung with yellow say and panelled with cedar. Here were two ladies and a gentleman—the former seated at work, the latter standing in the window. Sir Lewis, leading Roger up to one of the ladies, dropped on one knee to say—
"Here is the young Lord of March, to wait on my Lady's Grace."
"Here is the young Lord of March, to wait on my Lady's Grace."
With some curiosity Roger looked up, and saw a short, smiling, exceedingly fat woman, clad in a crimson damask dress embroidered with rings of gold. Threads of silver were mingled with her golden hair, and the remains of what had been extreme beauty could be traced in her countenance.
"Come hither, little Cousin," said the Princess affably, smiling all over her plump face. "Of a truth, I am right glad to see thee. I can go visit none now, for I am so fat I may scarce mount mine horse. Didst ever behold a woman fatter than I?"
Roger's head squire, who had been spending considerable pains in coaching him for this interview, was horrified to hear him reply with charming candour—
"No, Dame; that did I never."
"Why, thou sayest well!" laughed the Princess, evidently not in the least offended. "Alway speak truth, fair Cousin."
"So do I," answered Roger rather proudly. "My Lady my grandmother told me ever so to do; and she learned me two sayings by the which I should rule me, and I so will. Under your pleasure, Dame," he added in an instant, with a sudden recollection of the squire's instructions and those of Sir Gerard.