He had burnt the last letter and extinguished the taper; he raised his face, and for all his fine dressing and careful curls he looked haggard and anxious; the gravity of his expression overcame the impression of foppery in his appearance; it was a serious man, and a man with everything at stake on a doubtful issue, who held out his hand to his wife. She put her fingers into his palm and stood leaning against the tall back of his chair, looking down on him with those languishing eyes that had been so praised at the court of the late King, now a little marred and worn, but still brightly tender, and to my lord as lovely as when Lely had painted her beautiful among the beautiful. "You must help me," he said, his court drawl gone, his voice sincere. "Robert," smiled my lady, "I have been helping you ever since I met you." "’Tis admitted," he answered; "but, sweetheart, you must help me again." She touched lightly his thin, powdered cheek with her free hand; her smile was lovely in its tenderness. "What is your difficulty?" Subtle, intricate and oblique as his politics always were, crafty and cunning as were his character and his actions, with this one person whom he trusted Sunderland was succinct and direct. "The difficulty is the Princess Mary," he answered. "Explain," she smiled. He raised his hand and let it fall. "You understand already. Saying this child, this Prince of Wales, will never reign—the Princess is the heiress, and not her husband, and after her is the Princess Anne. Now it is not my design to put a woman on the throne, nor the design of England—we want the Prince, and he is third in succession——" "But he can act for his wife——" "His wife—there is the point. Will she, when she understandeth clearly what is afoot, support her husband, her father, or herself?" The Countess was silent a little, then said— "She hath no reason to love her father; he hath never sent her as much as a present since she went to The Hague, nor shown any manner of love for her." "Yet he counteth on her loyalty as a positive thing—and hath she any cause to love her husband either?" Lady Sunderland’s smile deepened. "Ladies will love their husbands whether they have cause or no." The Earl looked gently cynical. "She was a child when she was married, and the match was known to be hateful to her; she is still very young, and a Stewart. Do you not think she is like to be ambitious?" "How can I tell? Doth it make so much difference?" He answered earnestly— "A great difference. If there is a schism between her and the Prince his hands are hopelessly weakened, for there would be a larger party for her pretensions than for his——" "What do you want me to do, dear heart?" "I want a woman to manage a woman," smiled the Earl. "The Princess is seldom in touch with diplomats, and when she is—either by design or simplicity—she is very reserved."