Mistress Curtis explained the matter. I had guessed already that I stood in the presence of the Duke of Suffolk. He heard her to the end, glancing at me now and then, as I stood withdrawn into the recess of the window.
"It is well," said he. "I have every reason to trust your discretion, my good Curtis, and glad I am that my dear wife's love of music should be so gratified. What did you call the young lady's name?"
"Loveday Corbet, your Grace."
"Corbet—Corbet!" he repeated, musingly. "That is a west country name and a good old family. Come you from Devon, Mistress Corbet?"
"Yes, your Grace," I answered. "My father was a gentleman of North Devon, though I believe his father removed to London before he was born."
"Have you any friends there living at present?"
"None, your Grace, now that my Lady Peckham is dead. Her first husband was a distant kinsman of my father's."
"Corbet—I have heard the name lately, but I cannot place it," said he. "Well, my young lady, I trust you may be happy and useful in this house. Your mistress is a most lovely lady, and easily pleased. Let me give you a token to hansel your first entrance into my family."
So saying, he placed a gold piece in my hand, and then turned away and left the room. Such was my first sight of Charles Brandon, the good Duke of Suffolk, and ever to my mind the very mirror of all knightly and manly virtues.
I went home in a somewhat dazed and bewildered frame of mind, but once in the solitude of my own room, I soon composed myself and was ready to meet Master Hall's jokes and Philippa's bitter gibes on my promotion with equal serenity. Indeed, however full of fun and merriment Master Hall might be, he never forgot to be kind. It was not so easy to bear the children's remonstrances and tears, especially those of my own little pupil, Helen, a tender, spirited little maid, who had become very dear to me, but the matter was settled now, and there was no help for it.