"What does my lord Marquess ask, Grace?" she said; and my lord Marquess turned and looked at herself.
"I heard them speak of Madame Ellen," he answered. "They said something about some pretty things made of gold and that the people were angry that they were for her Grace of Portsmouth instead of Madame Ellen. Why do they like her better?"
Mistress Halsell took his hand and walked with him to their favourite seat in the big window.
"It is because she is the better woman of the two, my lord," she said.
"Is the other one bad, then?" he inquired. "And why does his Majesty give her things made of gold?"
"To pay her," answered Mistress Rebecca, looking thoughtfully out of the window.
"For what?" the young Marquess asked.
"For—for that an honest woman should not take pay for."
"Then why does he love her? Is he a bad King?" his voice lowering as he said it and his brown-eyed, ruddy little face grown solemn.
"A quiet woman in a place like mine cannot judge of Kings," she answered; "but to be King is a grave thing."