He shot one glance at her face, then turned his eyes again upon the stricken tree. Her face was absolutely calm and without expression, as it had been always when she had directed him what she would have done. He could trace no dejection in it: on the other hand, he gave her credit for a great command over her features. That he had himself. And, in the niece's eyes, as they moved from the backs of a flock of sheep to the dismantled abbey on the ridge, there was something of the enigmatic self-containment that was in the uncle's steady glance. He could observe no dejection, and at that he humbled himself a little more. 'Ay,' he said, 'the ordering of your progresses is a heavy burden. I would have you commend what I have done here.' She looked at him, at that, as if with a swift jealousy. His eyes were roving upon the gay carpets, the pavilions, and the flags against the grim walls, depending in motionless streaks of colour. 'The King's Grace's self,' she said, 'did tell me that all these things he ordered and thought out for my pleasuring.' Norfolk dropped his eyes to the ground. 'Aye,' he said, 'his Grace ordered them and their placing. There is no man to equal his Grace for such things; but I had the work of setting them where they are. I would have your favour for that.' She appeared appeased and gave him her hand to kiss. There was a little dark mole upon the third finger. 'The last niece that I had for Queen,' he said, 'would not suffer me to kiss her hand.' She looked at him a little absently, for, because since she had been Queen--and before--she had been a lonely woman, she was given to thinking her own thoughts whilst others talked. She was troubled by the condition of her chief maid Margot Poins. Margot Poins was usually tranquil, modest, submissive in a cheerful manner and ready to converse. But of late she had been moody, and sunk in a dull silence. And that morning she had suddenly burst out into a smouldering, heavy passion, and had torn Katharine's hair whilst she dressed it. 'Ay,' Margot had said, 'you are Queen: you can do what you will. It is well to be Queen. But we who are dirt underfoot, we cannot do one single thing.' And, because she was lonely, with only Lady Rochford, who was foolish, and this girl to talk to, it had grieved the Queen to find this girl growing so lumpish and dull. At that time, whilst her hair was being dressed, she had answered only-- 'Yea; it is good to be a Queen. But you will find it in Seneca----' and she had translated for Margot the passage which says that eagles are as much tied by weighty ropes as are finches caught in tiny fillets. 'Oh, your Latin,' Margot had said. 'I would I had never heard the sound of it, but had stuck to clean English.'