“It may be,” the queen replied; “I will so believe it. Truly, I hate to look with suspicion on so fair a face, yet I know one fair face that hideth a false heart. But all women are not harlots, thanks be to the Virgin! This young girl tells me she has never been to court, never seen a joust, never joined the gay revellers at a mask. Doubtless her uncle will take her presently to curtsy to that woman whom they call the queen, the true queen being not dead, albeit like to die. Mistress Carew will make a fair figure at the court, fairer than many, say you not so, Patience?” “Ay, gracious Queen,” Patience answered, eagerly catching the drift of her royal mistress’s thoughts, “I know none fairer; she is so tall and straight and withal so beautifully moulded. Not lean and long, but round and supple; and her skin is dazzling when the color comes, while those brown eyes of hers are two shining lights, and she has a mouth like Cupid’s bow.” “Truly, you have drawn a picture that might delight a lover,” Catherine said, smiling; “the court is a dangerous place to show such charms. What think you, my girls, is she not fairer than one Anne?” “A hundred times,” they answered gladly, ever willing to humor their unhappy mistress. For a moment the queen did not reply; she sat looking before her with an ironical smile playing about her lips. “’Tis a pity to mew up such a beauty at Kimbolton,” she said at last. “Ah, if we could but get my lord privy seal to take her to the court, then might we see if the star that shineth there is fixed, or but trembles to its fall. Alas!” she continued, after a moment, rousing herself from her mood, “how captivity and misfortune sour the temper! My thoughts were most unworthy and unqueenly. I may well let that poor creature rush to her certain doom unmolested by any ill-will of mine; a crown so ravished must press with thorns upon the wearer’s brow.”