Yet the Countess, standing in this little room, watching Mary writing with the candlelight over her bright hair and white garments, seeing her calmly enclose to the Prince Lord Danby's letter and a copy of her answer, could not help some wonder that this young woman—a Stewart, and born to power and gaiety—should so lightly and scornfully put aside a crown—the crown of England.
When Mary had finished her letters and sealed them, she rose and came also to the stove. She looked very grave.
"The Prince saith not one word of our losses," she remarked—"Madame Bentinck, I mean, and M. Fagel, yet both must have touched him nearly. I am sorry for M. Bentinck, who hath had no time to grieve."
"What will happen in England now, Highness?" asked the Countess, thinking of the Earl.
"I suppose," said Mary, breathing quickly, "they will offer the Prince the throne ... he commandeth my presence in England ... I must leave Holland——"
"You love the country?"
"Better than my own. I was not made for great affairs. I love this quiet life—my houses here, the people..."
She broke off quickly.
"What will you do, Madam?"
Lady Sunderland indeed wondered.