The ardent little poet thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. There was an almost unnatural lustre in her eyes, an almost unnatural brightness on her lip and cheek; the fresh wind had stirred the auburn hair from her brow, and the fitful sunlight touched it to sparkles of red gold.
"The Hague liveth only in hopes of one day seeing Your Majesty," he answered. "You are most extraordinarily beloved there, Madam."
"They were always very good to me," said Mary simply. "I still feel an exile here—but you must not breathe that, Mr. Prior," she added almost instantly.
"Are you returning to Holland?"
"Very soon, Madam."
"Well," smiled Mary, "I hope that when next I see you it may be at my house in The Hague—for I have good hopes that I may be free to go there soon. Let me at least flatter myself so."
She dismissed him kindly and continued her walk, keeping her gloved hand affectionately on Lady Temple's arm.
"What is this of the Duke of Leeds?" she asked Portland.
"They say he is to be impeached in the new Parliament, Madam, for taking money from the East India Company."
Mary frowned.