For this I have found throughout my whole life. It all depends on the woman herself as to how she is treated; and if she be not regarded with respect it is in nine cases out of ten because of the kind of woman she is. It may be different with men. In truth I know it is; for I have seen men of high standing and blameless character treated with discourtesy, amounting to rudeness if not to cruelty. But few men can speak lightly or rudely to a woman who is of gentle birth, and is in her own heart a gentlewoman. If there is any proof needed of this, it was made manifest that morning. For although Mistress Constance Leslie was the daughter of a man whom the king hated, and although she was accused of attempting to murder the great general by whose offices the king was brought back to the throne, there was not one of the justices who spoke to her in an unbecoming way. Therefore I say this: If a woman receives only scant courtesy, let her look to herself, for she will generally find the reason there. It is wellnigh impossible to respect a shrew, a slattern, or a gossip, although a man should in every case be courteous to womanhood, even if he find it hard to respect the woman. Mistress Constance was still pale, except for the pink flush on her cheeks, but it detracted not one whit from her beauty. Rather in my eyes it added to it. Moreover, no man, I do not care who he is, could have doubted her modesty or gentleness. Indeed I hated the man who called her wife, and I wondered why God had allowed her to be mated to Sir Charles Denman. But this might be because, even as she stood before the justices, my heart went out to her, if possible more than ever. She wore the same attire as on the previous night, and I heard a buzz of admiration pass around the room as she stood there bareheaded before the gaping crowd. But she seemed to be unconscious of it, for she took no notice of those who watched her, but instead turned her face to the justices, as if she would read their thoughts. Her lips were compressed, but not a sign of fear did she shew. Not an eyelid quivered, neither did her hands tremble. Whether she saw me I know not. But she made no sign as if she did, although I thought I once saw her looking at me furtively. I do not remember any of the formalities which preceded the trial; but when presently the chief justice called her name, she bowed in a stately way, and seemed prepared to answer any questions they might put. "Constance Denman." My heart grew bitter as I heard the name, and I thought I saw a look of anger cross her face. "You are accused of attempting to stab to the heart with a knife his Grace the Duke of Albermarle, but who was at that time General Monk, and in truth did stab his secretary. Because of this a warrant hath been issued against you. Although for a long time you escaped the law, you have at length been brought to justice."