“I like your advice well, my lord,” replied the Queen, “and will act upon it. The princess shall set out to-day.”
“I cannot too highly applaud your highness’s determination,” replied Gardiner; “but as you have spoken thus frankly, may I venture to ask whether the earl’s case is utterly hopeless?—whether, after he has sufficiently felt the weight of your displeasure you will not restore him to your favour—to your affections?”
“Never,” replied Mary, firmly, “never. And could you counsel it?”
“He is inexperienced, madam,” urged the bishop; “and after this salutary lesson——”
“No more, my lord,” interrupted the Queen, a shade passing over her features, “it is too late.”
“Too late!” echoed Gardiner. “Am I to understand your highness has made another engagement?”
“You are to understand nothing more than you are told, my lord,” replied Mary, angrily. “In due season you shall know all.”
As Gardiner bowed in acquiescence, he perceived the miniature of Philip of Spain lying on the table, and a sudden apprehension of the truth crossed him.
“There is one person upon whom I should chiefly desire your highness’s choice not to fall,1’ he said.
“And that is—?” interrupted Mary.