Before him stood Nest, with fire erupting from her dark eyes.
Henry looked at her, raised his brows, settled himself more easily in his chair, but cast aside the pillows on which his arms had rested. "Ha! Nest, I had forgotten thy presence. Hast caught me a bluebottle? My trouble is not so acute just now. How fares our boy, Robert?"
She swept the question aside with an angry gesture of the hand.
"And what sort of housekeeping do you have with Gerald?" he asked.
Again she made a movement of impatience.
"Odds life!" said he. "When here it was ever with thee Wales this, and Wales that. We had no mountains like thy Welsh Mynyddau—that is the silly word, was it not? And no trees like those in the Vale of Towy, and no waters that brawled and foamed like thy mountain brooks, and no music like the twanging of thy bardic harps, and no birds sang so sweet, and no flowers bloomed so fair. Pshaw! now thou art back among them all again. I have sent thee home—art content?"
"You have sent me back to blast and destroy my people. You have coupled my name with that of Gerald, that the curses of my dear people when they fall on him may fall on me also."
"Bah!" said the King. "Catch me a bluebottle, and do not talk in such high terms."
"Henry," she said, in thrilling tones, "I pray you——"
"You were forever praying me at one time to send you back to Wales. I have done so, and you are not content."