"You men are all alike," said Beatrice, laughing; "you think all women such frivolous creatures, that we can never have anything important to say. Now, if I were to speak to you of the lady with the dark eyes, whom you were bringing over from Italy, and who has never yet appeared amongst us, would not that seem of moment, my lord and brother?" "Hume has been telling tales," said Gowrie, laughing. "Not a whit," answered Beatrice; "it is your own dear mother who told the tales four or five months ago. She sent me your dutiful and humble letter, my lord--I suppose to teach me to behave myself. But what have you done with the dear girl? I long to see her soon.--Where have you hid her?" "In a place of great security, child," replied her brother, gaily, but still upon his guard; "and you shall see her, too, as soon as I have proved to his majesty--who has taken it into his head that she has got all the Earl of Morton's treasures--that her whole dowry consisted of two thousand gold ducats, and that she and her grandfather have been living in actual poverty ever since they fled from Scotland, nineteen years ago." "But what could put it into the king's wise head that she had got the regent's wealth?" asked Beatrice. "Such a thing was not as unlikely as you think," replied Gowrie. "The king has a shrewd scent for such things; and so convinced was he that it was the case, he sent Lindores to meet me on the road from Carlisle, and claim my poor Julia as a ward of the crown. Lindores was vastly mortified when he found I had left her behind; and the same night, to console himself, he got drunk, and told me the whole story in his cups." Beatrice laughed, and Alexander Ruthven laughed; but Gowrie went on, saying, "I cannot venture to speak to his majesty on the subject myself, and I have looked in vain for him to speak to me. I have thrown the ball at his foot a dozen times, but he would not kick it; though I have a shrewd notion, Beatrice, he would rather have me wed a dowerless girl like this, than marry a rich bride." "Hie, Alex, boy! Alex!" cried the voice of the king, certainly not very far from the door. "Alex Ruthven, I say, is your good brother gone?" and James himself entered the room unattended. Every one instantly rose; and the king rolled on towards a seat, with that peculiar ungainly shamble which was more conspicuous when he was either moved by any strong emotion or wished to appear peculiarly gracious. It was almost always a certain sign that the monarch was dissembling favour when he approached any one with that roll very strongly apparent. The only one in the room, however, whose clear sight and long observation enabled her to judge the truth, was Beatrice Ruthven, and she stood and gazed sidelong at the king, while Gowrie hastened to advance a chair.