foes were likely to be influenced by self-interest not largely coloured by a romantic sympathy with her misfortunes. Henrietta's regency came to an end before she had much opportunity for action, for by July her husband was back in London. This is not the place to tell the story of the disastrous Scotch expedition; it suffices to say that Charles returned nominally a conqueror,[217] but in reality defeated, and with the bitter knowledge that he could only overcome his rebellious subjects in Scotland by asking the help of his discontented people in England. Nevertheless, there was an interval of a few months before the next act of the tragedy was played, and during it were celebrated some of the last of those splendid festivities for which the Court of the Queen of England was renowned. A particularly splendid masque, which was played at Whitehall on January 21st, 16-39/40, deserves mention on account of the tragic discrepancy between the spirit of triumphant rejoicing and secure prosperity breathed by it, and on the one hand the discontent which, outside the brilliantly lighted rooms, was surging through the winter darkness of the city, and on the other the anxiety which was gnawing at the heart of some of those who appeared among the gayest and most careless of the revellers. The masque was got up by the Queen, whose fondness for such amusements did not decrease with age, and who found in the hard work which such a task involved a welcome diversion from her anxieties. It bore the name of _Salmacida Spolia_,[218] and was written by Sir William D'Avenant, the reputed son of Shakespeare, who had succeeded Ben Jonson as laureate, and who was specially devoted to Henrietta's service. The scenery and decorations, so important to the success of a masque, were supplied by Inigo Jones, who had before now co-operated with D'Avenant, while for the musical part of the entertainment Lewis Richard, Master of His Majesty's Musick, was responsible. Henrietta had considerable difficulty with her troupe,[219] which included not only the King but a number of ladies and gentlemen of the Court, and great annoyance was caused by Lady Carnarvon, who showed symptoms of the invading Puritan spirit in refusing to take part in the masque unless she were assured that the representation would not take place on a Sunday. However, all difficulties were smoothed over by the Queen, who was usually compliant in small matters, and the play was a notable success, though the Earl of Northumberland, who was not acting, wrote to his sister that "a company of worse faces was never assembled than the Queen had got together."[220] The royal pair alone might have given the lie to the Earl's ungallant words. King Charles, whose splendid looks have entered, through the genius of Van Dyck, into the heritage of the nation, played his part with the external dignity in which he was never lacking; while his wife displayed her still abundant charms to great advantage in an