"What of him? . . . Margaret, art stupid, or art not my friend? . . . Is it not natural that I should wish to know whether I am to be Duchess of Wessex or abbess in a holy but uncomfortable convent?" "Yes, 'tis natural enough," assented Margaret thoughtfully, "but----" "His Grace has never seen me since I was so long," said Ursula with a short, impatient sigh, and stretching out a round arm decked with a sleeve of rich silk and fine lace. "I had a red face then, and pap was stuffed into my mouth to keep me quiet. You see, I could not have been madly alluring then." "And you are beautiful now, Ursula. But of what avail is it? You cannot wed His Grace of Wessex, for he'll never ask you to be his wife. He'll marry the Queen. All England wishes it." "But I wish him to marry me," quoth Ursula with a resolute tap of her high-heeled shoe against the ground. "Yes, me! and I want that witch yonder to ask the stars if he will fall in love with me when he sees me, or if he will yield to those who want to make of him a tool for their political ambition, and marry an ugly, ill-tempered old woman who happens to be Queen of England." "Ursula!" Margaret's horror, amazement, and awe had rendered her almost speechless. Ursula's utterance was nearly sacrilegious, in these days when kings and queens ruled by right divine. But the young girl continued, quite unabashed by her friend's rebuke. "Well," she said imperturbably, "you can't deny that the Queen is old! . . . and ugly! . . . and ill-tempered! . . ." Margaret, however, was prepared to deny these monstrous statements with the last breath left in her delicate body. The poor little soul was frightened out of her wits. Suppose some one had overheard!--and repeated the tale that two of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting had called Her Majesty old!--and ugly!--and ill-tempered!---- Nay, Ursula's madcap freaks were past bearing! and would lead her into serious trouble one of these days. "Margaret," whispered the delinquent, who still seemed quite unaware of the enormity of her offence, "hast thou ever seen His Grace of Wessex?" "No," replied Margaret curtly, for she was still very wrathful, and vaguely felt that, at this stage, all references to the Duke were somehow treasonable. "Nor I since I was a baby," sighed Ursula; "but see here. . . ." From beneath the folds of her cloak she drew a chain and locket, and holding the latter before Margaret's unwilling eyes, she said ecstatically-- "That's his picture. Isn't he handsome?" "You've fallen in love with his picture!" "Madly!" "Madly indeed!" retorted Margaret. Ursula once more hid the locket inside her robe. She had regained all her courage. Once more dragging her weaker companion by the wrist she turned towards the witch's booth.