She sat down to her game, utterly ignoring the other princes in their weather-beaten condition; and they were forced to follow the King, and make their way to their several chambers, for Queen Catherine's will was law in matters of etiquette. 'The proud peat! She is jealous of every word Harry speaks--even to his cousin,' muttered James, as he reached his own room. 'You saw her, though,--you saw her!' he added, smiling, as he laid his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. The boy coloured like a poppy, and answered awkwardly enough, 'The Lady Joan, Sir?' 'Who but the Lady Joan, thou silly lad? How say'st thou? Will not Scotland forget in the sight of that fair face all those fule phantasies--the only folly I heard at Glenuskie?' 'Methinks,' said Malcolm, looking down in sheer awkwardness, 'it were easier to bow to her than to King Harry's dame. She hath more of stateliness.' 'Humph!' said James, 'dost so serve thy courtly 'prenticeship? Nay, but in a sort I see thy meaning. The royal blood of England shows itself to one who hath an eye for princeliness of nature.' 'Nay,' said Malcolm, gratified, 'those dark eyes and swart locks--' 'Dark eyes--swart locks!' interrupted the King. 'His wits have gone wool- gathering.' 'Indeed, Sir!' exclaimed Malcolm, 'I thought you meant the lady who stood by the Queen's table, with the grand turn of the neck and the white wimple and veil.' 'Pshaw!' said James; 'the foolish callant! he hath taken that great brown Luxemburg nun of Dame Jac's for the Rose of Somerset.' However, James, seeing how confounded the boy was by this momentary displeasure, explained to him who the other persons he had seen were--Jaqueline, the runaway Countess of Hainault in her own right, and Duchess of Brabant by marriage; Humfrey, duke of Gloucester, the King's young, brilliant brother; the grave, melancholy Duke of Orleans, who had been taken captive at Agincourt, and was at present quartered at Pontefract; the handsome, but stout and heavy-looking Earl of March; brave Lord Warwick; Sir Lewis Robsart, the old knight to whose charge the Queen had been specially committed from the moment of her betrothal; and a young, bold, gay-looking lad, of Malcolm's own age, but far taller and stouter, and with a merry, half-defiant, half-insouciant air, who had greatly taken his fancy, was, he was told, Ralf Percy, the second son of Sir Harry Percy. 'Of him they called Hotspur?--who was taken captive at Otterburn, who died a rebel!' exclaimed Malcolm. 'Ay,' said James; 'but King Harry had learnt the art of war as a boy, first under Hotspur, in Wales; nor doth he love that northern fashion of ours of keeping up feud from generation to generation. So hath he restored the eldest son to his barony, and set him to watch our Borders; and the younger, Ralf, he is training in his own school of chivalry.'