"Surely," Francis heard her father say to her mother, "the remark of a child would not suffice for such behavior? Elizabeth is vain beyond most women, yet 'twere doing her an injustice to deem her capable of resentment for so slight a thing. Can she have learned of Ballard's presence in England? Of our visit to Chartley? And yet none save we three knew whither we went. And you would be discreet, I trow. Francis, young as she is, would reveal naught that would do me harm. She is too straightforward, too truthful,"--he stopped with a light laugh and kissed his wife. "What spirit the girl had to tell the queen that thou wert fairer," he said. "Thou art so in truth, Penelope, yet for my life I durst not tell it to Elizabeth." "Nay; I would not have thee to, my lord. Say that Elizabeth is the loveliest, the fairest of womankind, I care not so that I may keep thee with me. But our child, my lord! I fear for that very directness which thou dost commend. A weaker spirit would be more politic. I would not that she be less truthful, but I wish, I wish----" "Nay, sweetheart, wish not that she be other than she is. I would not have her fawning upon the queen as do the maids of the court. Dost mark what words of flattery they utter and yet with what ridicule they speak of her to each other when they think that there is none to hear? I would not that Francis should be as they are." "Nor I," acquiesced the mother. "Yet sometimes truth doth not meet with the merit it deserves." "True; but let us think not on that, but be grateful that our child is as she is." Francis' heart glowed with love and tenderness toward her parents, and she was grieved that words of hers had brought such disquiet upon them. "I must try," she mused, "to retain my truth and yet not offend by it. But how could I have said other than I did? My mother is fairer to me. There was but the one answer to be given to such a question." Over and over she turned the matter in her mind striving to reconcile policy with truthfulness. A problem which has vexed the souls of men since the beginning of time. At last the queen took her departure. As she bade her host and hostess farewell, she said: "Madam, I thank you for your entertainment. My lord, though thou bearest me no good will, yet shalt thou find that Elizabeth doth not forget that thy father was the friend of her father. 'Tis pity that more attention hath not been given to thy son's manners, but the fault shall be amended, I promise you. England surely hath schools for its youth that are equal to those of thy faith abroad." "Madam, what mean you?" asked the nobleman detecting the menace in her words. "We shall see what we shall see," was the queen's enigmatical rejoinder. She swept to her chariot, and with her brilliant train, soon left Stafford Hall behind.