"In--in Westminster Abbey," said Macfarren lamely. This was a wretched subterfuge, but it satisfied Marian, who exclaimed: "And who attended her? Was it at nooning or evening service? And has she aged, as much I fear she hath?" "She looked just as she has for a long, long time, ever since I first saw her," said he, desperately. Clearly, she would ask embarrassing questions. "But," he added, artfully, "I was not presented to her, nor did she even honor me with a glance." Marian smiled: "Poor queen! her eyesight doth somewhat fail. But, friend, what is thy name? and is there no entertainment to be had here?" Macfarren had never before been ashamed of his name, but he wished he could have said he was a Cecil, a Fairfax, a Beauclerk, or any other proud Elizabethan name. He could only say, with a kind of proud humility: "My name is Macfarren, and I and all that is mine are at your service." "Well said!" cried Marian. "But tell me, whose roof doth now shelter me? Whose house is this?" "It is an ho--an inn," answered Macfarren. "And a good hostelry, I do think," said Marian, glancing around, "though not like the inns of Suffolk. But, since thou wast in London lately, we can not be far from there." "Only seven days," replied Macfarren, with nervous audacity. "But seven days! Then can my father come for me, if thou wilt send a messenger by post!" "Indeed I will," responded Macfarren, with a sinking heart and a guilty conscience as he uttered this last colossal falsehood. "And now," said Marian, as if entirely satisfied with the proposed arrangement, "let us see what victual mine host can provide. Beshrew me if I have tasted aught since we dined, at an hour before noon." Macfarren looked furtively at his watch. It was half-past six--just his dinner-hour. It would be easy enough to take Marian down to dinner, if he could get one of the score of pleasant married women in the hotel with whom he was on friendly terms to go with her; and, although it is always awkward to suggest a chaperon to a girl, yet it must be done. "We will go to the dining-room immediately. But I must secure a chaperon for you. That would be necessary, you know, to prevent talk," said Macfarren. "A chaperon?" asked Marian, wonderingly. "Is it a head-covering, lest the wind should rumple my coif? Or is it one of the new coaches brought from France, in which I hear the nobility take the air?" "It is neither," answered Macfarren, feeling anxious that no objection should be made to the arrangement. "It is a married lady to attend you--" He halted, but Marian took it up at once. "A lady-in-waiting, meanest thou? If she is of suitable rank I shall be well pleased. At King's Lyndon I had two damsels, daughters of knights, to wait on my pleasure. Whom wilt have to attend me?"