It was while we were at Lincoln, where we tarried from the morrow of Holy Cross to Michaelmas Eve [September 15th to 28th], that Donald the Scots messager came from the southern parts with tidings. For some time--divers weeks, certes--afore that, had the Queen been marvellous unrestful and hard to serve. That which liked her yesterday was all out this morrow, and each matter man named for her plesance was worser than that had gone afore. I was nearhand driven out of senses that very morrow, so sharp [irritable] was she touching her array. Not a gown in her wardrobe would serve the turn; and when at last she chose which she would don, then were her hoods all awry; and then would she have no hood, but only a wimple of fair cloth of linen. Then, gramercy! such pains had we to find her a fillet: this was too deep, and that too narrow, and this set with amethysts should ill fit with her gown of rose-colour, and that wrought of lily-flowers should catch in her hair. I wished me at the further end of the realm from Lincoln, ay, a dozen times twice told. At long last we gat her filleted; and then came the mantle. First, Dame Elizabeth brought one of black cloth of Stamford, lined with fox fur: no, that served not. Then brought Dame Joan de Vaux the fair mantle of cloth of velvet, grey, that I ever reckoned the fairest in the Queen's wardrobe, guarded with black budge, and wrought in embroidery of rose-colour and silver: she waved it away as though the very sight 'noyed [disgusted] her. Then fetched Isabel de la Helde the ray mantle, with corded ground, of blue, red, and green; and the Queen chid her as though she had committed one of the seven deadly sins. At the last, in uttermost wanhope [despair], ran I and brought the ugsomest of all, the corded olive green with border of grey; and forsooth, that would she have. Well-a-day, but I was fain when we had her at last arrayed! When the Queen had left the chamber, Dame Elizabeth cast her on the nearest bench, and panted like a coursed hare. "Deary, deary me!" crieth she: "I would I were abed." "Abed!" crieth Isabel de la Helde. "Abed at five o'clock of a morrow!" "Ay, or rather, I would I had never gat out. Gramercy, but how fractious is the Queen! I counted we ne'er should have her donned." "She never spoke to me so sharp in her life," saith Isabel. "I tell you, I am fair dog-weary!" quoth Dame Elizabeth. "Whatever hath took the Queen?" saith Joan de Vilers. "Foolish childre, all of you!" saith old Dame Tiffany, looking on us with a smile. "When man is fractious like to this, with every man and every matter, either he suffereth pain, or else he hath some hidden anguish or fear that hath nought to do with the matter in hand. 'Tis not with you that my Lady is wrathful. There is something harrying her at heart. And she hath not told me."