Rosamund tied her apron on again, and laid hold of the churn-handle.

'What do you call great?' she asked, beginning to work it up and down.

The young man took his gold coin meditatively between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it on its silken string.

'Greatness is everything that I have not, and want to have,' he said.

'Such as what?'

'Oh, power and wealth, and to be above other men, and to have them look up to me and obey me. That is greatness.'

'Pooh!' exclaimed Rosamund, working her churn vigorously. 'I shouldn't care about such greatness as that.'

'Not care about it, Rosamund?'

'Not so much as a pat of butter, Raymond. What do you want of wealth? Are you hungry, pray, or thirsty? I will give you as much of the best milk, fresh from the cow, as you can drink; and all the wealth in the world couldn't help you to drink more. As for power—however high it brought you, it couldn't make you yourself higher by so much as a single inch: you would still be the same Raymond you are now, even if you were an emperor—yes, or that Appanage of Royalty you've been thinking and talking about all these dozen years or more. Why do you want people to look up to you and obey you, I should like to know? Can't you see that it's not you they would look up to, but your ermine robe and silk stockings——'

'Ah! my mother once washed one of the King's silk stockings—the left one,' murmured Raymond; 'and the Appanage of Royalty said that some day, perhaps, he would give me his yellow cap——'