“You were in France?” she said; “’tis there my cousin Peter is; he ran away, you know, and coming to Paris, was taken into the household of Sir John Wallop.” “I know him,” her companion answered, smiling; “a gay and fiery gallant, who is like to make a brave record for Mohun’s Ottery.” At this moment they were interrupted by Bedingfield, who, turning from Sir William, for the first time cast a glance in Betty’s direction. “Is this the maid?” he asked. “Come hither, niece,” Carew said, “and make your curtsy to Sir Edmund; you are now committed to his charge to be introduced to the princess dowager.” “Who is little likely to be pleased thereat,” remarked Bedingfield, with a frankness which yet farther chilled Betty’s heart. “I bid you welcome, mistress,” he added dryly; “it is a sorry place for a young maid at best, and of late her highness has been ailing and in no plight to crave gay attendance.” “Discourage her no more, Bedingfield,” Sir William remarked; “the wench is sufficiently cast down at the prospect, without your croaking talk.” “It mends not a matter to dress it in gay colors,” Bedingfield retorted briefly. “Come, young mistress, follow me to the princess; there is no place to bestow you until I know her wishes, and ’tis best to cut a long matter short.” “I would make some changes in my garments,” Mistress Betty said quietly, “before I go to--to her grace.” “There is no need,” Sir Edmund replied, with evident impatience to have an unpleasant task accomplished; “you may lay aside your cloak in the antechamber while I learn her highness’s wishes in the matter, and so end it.”