‘You shall show yourself to them, madam, if you will be guided by me,’ says Mary Livingstone. The Grand Prior was not against it.
‘Well,’ says the Queen, ‘let us go, then, to see and be seen.’
One of the maids—Seton, I gather—made an outcry: ‘Oh, ma’am, you will never go to them in your white weed!’
‘How else, child?’
Seton caught at her hand. ‘Like the bonny Queen Mab—like the Fairy Vivien that charmed Tamlane out of his five wits. Thus you should go!’
The Queen turned blushing to the Grand Prior.
‘How shall I show myself, good uncle?’
‘My niece, you are fair enough now.’
‘Is it true?’ she said. ‘Then I will be fairer yet. Get me what you will; make a queen of me. Fleming, you shall choose.’
Mary Fleming, a gentle beauty, considered the case. ‘I shall dress your Majesty in the white and green,’ she declared, and was gone to get it.