Mary's fine fingers pulled delicately at the rose leaves.
"My husband and that poor unhappy gentleman are such different characters and in such different situations," she said, "that there can be no comparison. I think the Prince would never do as the Duke did."
Basilea looked at her keenly.
"'Tis asserted, Lady Sunderland saith, that the Prince is in league with all the discontents of England, that he sheltereth many at The Hague——"
"This country," answered the Princess quietly, "hath always been a refuge for the unfortunate, and it is reasonable that the near connection of my husband to the throne should give him an interest in English business."
Basilea was older than the Princess, whose air of extreme gentleness further emboldened her to take, half unconsciously, a masterful tone.
"I can assure Lady Sunderland that His Highness is innocent of the designs imputed to him."
Mary glanced up from the rose bush; she smiled very slightly.
"Why, you must go to the Prince for that assurance; I know nothing about it."
Basilea stirred the gravel with her square-toed red shoe.