'Speak thy fool whimsy,' he muttered huskily. 'Speak!'
'My lord,' she said, 'where is the Queen that is?'
He flared suddenly at her as if she had reproved him.
'At Windsor. 'Tis a better palace than this of mine here.' He shook his finger heavily and uttered with a boastful defiance: 'Shalt not say I shower no gifts on her. Shalt not say she has no state. I ha' sent her seven jennets this day. I shall go bring her golden apples on the morrow. Scents she has had o' me; French gowns, Southern fruits. No man nor wench shall say I be not princely——' His boasting bluster died away before her silence. To please a mute desire in her, he had showered more gifts on Anne of Cleves than on any other woman he had ever seen; and thinking that she used him ill not to praise him for this, he could not hold his tongue: 'What is't to thee what she hath? What she hath thou losest. 'Tis a folly.'
'My lord,' she said, 'I will myself to see the Queen that is.'
'And whysomever?' he voiced his astonishment.
'My lord,' she said, 'I have a tickly conscience in divorces. I will ask her mine own self.'
He roared out suddenly indistinguishable words, stamped his feet, waved his hands at the skies, and lost his voice altogether.
'Aye,' she said, catching at some of his speech, 'I ha' read your Highness' depositions. I ha' read depositions of the Archbishop's. But I will be satisfied of her own mouth that she be not your wife.'
And when he swore that Anne would lie: