‘“O woman,” she said, snarling, “what are you making there?”
‘The Countess looked up, then down: the far-searching eyes she had! “I am making,” said she, “a shift for my fair son that is to be—my lord’s and mine.”
‘“You make for a bastard, woman,” said the Queen; and the Countess smiled wisely.
‘“Maybe I do, maybe. But this child of mine, look you, in my country we call a love-child.”
‘The Queen reeled as if she were sick-faint, and had Sempill beside her in a moment, flaring with indignation.
‘“Come you with me, madam,” cried she; “come you with me. Will you bandy words with a——?”
‘She was not suffered to get out her word. The Queen put her away gently, saying, “No, no, you shall not call her that, lest she may ask you some home questions.”
‘But the Countess was not offended. “Why should she not? What harm in a name? Call me as you will, ma’am, I shall never forbid you.”
‘“Have you no shame?” cried Sempill. “And you divorced on your own motion?”
‘The Countess replied to the Queen, as if it had been she that spoke. “O, madam, if divorce stands not in your way, shall it stand in mine? You have given him your body, as I did mine; and the Church cannot gainsay me that. But I’ll have you remember that when I got my child I was a wife; and when you get yours you’ll be none, I doubt.”