Her robes were like an iridescent cloud, and wondrous opals starred her coronet. And like the changing colour of the gems, her face was different as he looked, a shade of annoyance melted to a smile, yet in the very gentleness of her greeting, the man was doubtful of a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Brand heard Lord Sydney making the presentation, felt that the people about him seemed embarrassed, wondered what fantastic etiquette he ought to follow, looked our Lady straight in the face, took her extended hand with reverence in both his own. "Forgive me," he said. "Please tell me what to do." He could not hear his own words, his heart so thundered, and every artery in his body thrilled. Margaret was shaking hands with him frankly, cordially. "Yes, shake hands," she cried, tremulous with laughter. "Let the Queen shake hands with the King of Lyonesse!" "I am ashamed," he said, humbly. "I ought to have dressed--to have----" "Come in disguise? Why that would be absurd for Lyonesse. We will ask you only to wear the Rose of England," she took from her shoulder a blood-red rose, and fastened it with a jewelled brooch upon his breast. "My Lords," she cried to her attendants, "witness that we create the Order of the Rose for Englishmen who have served their country well. Brand of Lyonesse, first Knight of the Order of the Rose, this is our thanks for great and ungrudging service. Come, honour us with your escort, Mr. Brand." She led him to a balcony overlooking the gardens--faint came the sound of distant music there. She thought of the things to be said, the things to be done, wondered how she could deal with this rough monster, hated the Chancellor for setting such a task, gave up the whole business in despair, and set herself to find out why Brand hated women. "Here we can rest," she said; "you shall sit there and let me stand where I can see all my beech trees. Sometimes I stay here all through a summer night with Orion and the Pleiads to keep me company." He could see her face dark against the full moon, wonderfully still. Her breast rose and fell as she breathed, her every movement swayed the changing glory of her moonlight robes. She seemed not earthly, but kin of great Orion and the Pleiads. "What is your garden like in Lyonesse?" "My garden?" he answered, trying to control his voice. "I know," said Margaret, "what it must be like, a garden of rocks and the white surf for flowers. Your gardener is the wind--I should like your garden." "From my cottage," he answered, "the wall goes down three hundred feet sheer to the breakers." "Oh, I can see it! A wonderful cliff with big outstanding stacks and bastions, where the sea-eagles breed. How beautiful! But can you live there in winter?" "Yes. I had a fright though once when a sea wrecked my study." "At three hundred feet?"