“And so would I,” he said heartily; “yet surely, mistress, a late repentance is better than none.”
“I would have none of it,” retorted his companion, with disdain; “had I been treated like this queen, I would never have written so loving a letter to the king, no, not I! Poor lady! she was too meek, or, perhaps, too good a Christian. A little more spirit would have made him mend his ways in time. I do think that never was a woman who deserved more pity.”
“There are some who would call your speech treasonable, Mistress Carew,” Raby said, but his eyes were full of amusement as he looked at the flushed, angry face before him; “speak not too warmly in this lady’s cause before other witnesses, I pray you.”
“Sir, she was hardly used,” declared Betty, stoutly; “I would say so if you were the king’s highness.”
“And if you said it with that tone and look, I do wager he would pardon you,” exclaimed the other, smiling; “indeed, I believe the king has known some hours of regret. At least, he has ordered the court into deep mourning; but the queen—” Raby shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“Queen Anne Boleyn? What of her?” asked the young girl, a certain scorn in her fresh voice.
“Queen Anne and all her ladies are wearing yellow,” Raby said, “and a curious spectacle it is. They do say she has remarked that she only regretted that the Lady Catherine made so good an end.”
“’Tis a shame,” cried Betty; “she is but a harlequin to dress so. This queen was a good woman, and so deserves all respect.”
“It is reported that she plotted with the Spaniards against this realm,” remarked her companion, watching her face.
Mistress Betty flushed rose-red; the thought of the hidden packet came to her mind. This charge she could neither parry nor deny, but her pity for the dead woman outlived her horror of treasonable practices. She lifted her head haughtily.