"I don't know what you mean, Madam," answered Anne almost insolently; she never used any manner of respect to the Queen; she considered that she was of as much importance; she never ceased to flaunt that she was the mother of the child who would be the future King of England.
Mary gazed at her pouting, overblown comeliness with sad eyes.
"You will not understand," she answered. "You take a pleasure in doing everything contrary to what I do——"
Anne smoothed her grey satin skirt with a plump white hand.
"Our tastes are different," she said.
Mary was silent. Anne kept her languid eyes downcast, then jerked out—
"I have writ to the King for the vacant Garter for my Lord Marlborough. I hope Your Majesty will use your influence?"
Mary coloured hotly.
"You have writ to the King in Ireland on such a matter?"
"And so hath the Prince. It is allowable to write to the King, I hope?"