"It always shall be just like that," Judith declared.
Then she stood up abruptly.
"But I am not going to talk any more now," she said. "I must go in. The Imps will be awake by now. But I shan't bring them out here. I want you to rest. I promised the Duke, that I would see that you got as much rest as possible, whenever you came here. I—like the Duke. He—cares more for you—than you realize, Alfred, I think. You will try to rest now, won't you? How much sleep have you had in the last twenty-four hours? Three hours, last night? You are too reckless. I am not surprised the King's physician is turning grey. The Duke told me that. You can't stay up on the bridge indefinitely. You will find that you will be able to sleep now—after all my plain speaking! Are you comfortable in that chair? Let me give you this cushion—"
She lingered beside him, seeking to make him comfortable, as a woman will.
"I treat you, just as if you were one of my boys, don't I?" she said. "I know you like it. But I do it—in self-defence."
The King submitted, passively, to her ministrations.
Then he caught her hand, and raised it to his lips.
His action, like so many of his actions, was quite impulsive. But he did not regret it.
In what other way could he have expressed so well, his admiration, his gratitude, his renewed trust?
Judith blushed charmingly.