Following to a kind of alcove, raised by a step or two, Anne found herself before a half-circle of ladies and gentlemen round a chair of state, in front of which stood a nurse, with an infant in her arms, holding him to be caressed and inspected by the lady on the throne.  Her beautiful soft dark eyes and hair, and an ivory complexion, with her dignified and graceful bearing, her long, slender throat and exquisite figure, were not so much concealed as enhanced by the simple mob cap and ‘night-gown,’ as it was then the fashion to call a morning wrapper, which she wore, and Anne’s first impression was that no wonder Peregrine raved about her.  Poor Peregrine! that very thought came like a stab, as, after courtesying low, she stood at the end of the long room—­silent, and observing.

A few gentlemen waited by the opposite door, but not coming far into the apartment, and Lady Oglethorpe was announced by one of them.  The space was so great that Anne could not hear the words, and she only saw the gracious smile and greeting as Lady Oglethorpe knelt and kissed the Queen’s hand.  After a long conversation between the mothers, during which Lady Oglethorpe was accommodated with a cushion, Anne was beckoned forward, and was named to the Queen, who honoured her with an inclination of the head and a few low murmured words.

Then there was an announcement of ‘His Majesty,’ and Anne, following the general example of standing back with low obeisances, beheld the tall active figure and dark heavy countenance of her Royal godfather, under his great black, heavily-curled wig.  He returned Lady Oglethorpe’s greeting, and his face lighted up with a pleasant smile that greatly changed the expression as he took his child into his arms for a few moments; but the little one began to cry, whereupon he was carried off, and the King began to consult Lady Oglethorpe upon the water-gruel on which the poor little Prince was being reared, and of which she emphatically disapproved.

Before he left the room, however, Lady Oglethorpe took care to present to him his god-daughter, Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford, and very low was the girl’s obeisance before him, but with far more fright and shyness than before the sweet-faced Queen.

“Oh ay!” he said, “I remember honest Will Woodford.  He did good service at Southwold.  I wish he had left a son like him.  Have you a brother, young mistress?”

“No, please your Majesty, I am an only child.”

“More’s the pity,” he said kindly, and with a smile brightening his heavy features. “’Tis too good a breed to die out.  You are Catholic?”

“I am bred in the English Church, so please your Majesty.”

His Majesty was evidently less pleased than before, but he only said, “Ha! and my godchild!  We must amend that,” and waved her aside.

The royal interview over, the newcomer was presented to the State Governess, the Countess of Powys, a fair and gracious matron, who was, however, almost as far removed from her as the Queen.  Then she was called on to take a solemn oath before the Master of the Household, of dutiful loyalty to the Prince.