"I do not care to go," Agnes answered. "I cannot abide it."
More than once Patience found her asleep, her pillow wet with tears. She did not question her, she guessed what it was. The first sorrow in her life would soon come. In June the Princess Henrietta was to be married, and then they would be parted and she would be alone.
"That will not be good for the child," Patience reasoned. "What shall I do with her, where shall I take her?"
A curious thing happened. Ann Newbolt had returned to London and little by little had wound herself into Patience's good graces. More than once they had met in the park when Agnes was taking her morning airing. Ann was given to coming thither at the same hour with two dogs which she brought with her to give them a free run.
"I could not be without them," she would say, "and so I begged Father to let me bring them up from the manor for company's sake. Our big London house is so dreary."
Now Agnes had never had any animals of her own, and her delight was great when, after a few outings, Cæsar and Juno--for so they were called--learned to know her, and would bound across the park when they saw her coming, and well-nigh knock her down with joy. She would run with them, she would play with them. At first this was much to Patience's displeasure; but Ann had her old nurse with her, and she said to Patience:
"Let the child be, let her run and play; she is too much cooped up in your palace. Do you not see she is growing pale?"
Ann chimed in, "She is like a hot-house plant; you are forcing her, Mistress Patience."
"Not I," returned Patience, "but those who surround her, those who do not understand that she is a child."
"Why do you not take her into the country and let her run wild for a year or two?" asked Ann's nurse. "Then you would bring her back as fresh and fair as a rose. Court life is not good for children."