"Madam," he said, a little thickly, but with an evident attempt at amiability, "you are very welcome to our presence. 'Fore God, having seen you once in that boy's suit, I could not rest until I had you back again at court." As he spoke, he looked at me, and the blood stirred in me from head to foot, following his evil glances. I could wear that boy's attire before the world without a thought, but before that King, not for a second without shame. I had hated him before--I loathed him then. "I trust," he went on, "that your voyage hither hath been a pleasant one, that your reception hath been commensurate with your beauty, and that your present entertainment is to your liking." "Your Majesty," said I, "as I told you before in the presence of the good Bishop Ken, who was your good angel on that day..." "Name him not," said the King resentfully; "we are well rid of the pestilent Churchman and his pious advices." "Not so," I persisted. "Madam, I will not have him mentioned," growled His Majesty. "You are, or should be, the font of honour and dignity for these three kingdoms; the oppressed, the weak, the persecuted, the tempted, have only you to whom to appeal, as I, a woman, friendless, alone, bereft of all her protectors, appeal to you now." "Appeal rather to my love for you, Lady Katharine, and I could deny you nothing," he made answer, smirking odiously at me. "Rather do I appeal to the King's mercy, the King's honour, the King's justice...!" I cried. "Mean you Lord Jeffreys?" he asked. "God forbid!" "'Twas upon his advice I brought you hither," laughed the Monarch. "So I might have surmised." "He told me, in his blunt, rough way, that I was more than a fool to let escape such a delicious little..." "Spare me his vulgar words!" I exclaimed contemptuously. "I will spare you anything, if you will just love me a little, you little vixen. Come, we have talked enough." He moved toward me a step. Instantly--God forgive me, it is a fearful thing for a subject to do, but my blood was hot, and I was so enraged--I lifted my hand. "Come nearer," said I, "and I strike you with this." The King stared hard at me, and then burst into laughter as he recognised how little formidable a thing it was that I held in my hand. "What is 't?" he asked. "A bit of broken glass? A woman's weapon." I was quicker than he thought, for, though he was on me as he spoke and his hand caught at my wrist, I struggled viciously and managed to scratch his face; indeed, I cut it deep enough for blood to come. "You little spit-fire!" he cried angrily, wresting the broken goblet from me. "What's the matter with you? There is scarce a woman in the realm that would not be honoured by my affection." "Here is one," answered I, "that finds it only dishonour." I wrenched myself free from him as he spoke and stepped back from him. He was sober enough now, and in an ugly mood, yet strove to control himself and win me if he could.