had been his only active rival, and even he was not there constantly.  But in the Capital it was otherwise.  Scores of Knights, young and old, now sought her favor and were ever in attendance.  Indeed half the eligible men at Court were her suitors, and the feeling among some of the more impetuous had reached a point where it needed only the flimsiest of excuses for such an exchange of cartels as would keep the lists at Smithfield busy for a week.  But through it all, the Countess moved with calm courtesy and serene unconcern.  She had her favorites, naturally,—­and she made no pretense otherwise,—­but that reduced not a whit the fervor of the others.  Like the dogs in the dining hall, they took the scraps flung to them, and eagerly awaited more.

And the Lady Mary Percy gibed sweetly at them all, and at the Countess, too; but she gibed most at Sir Aymer de Lacy.

“You are a rare wooer, surely,” said she one day, as the Lord of Ware bore the Countess off to his barge for a row on the Thames.  “You had your chance at Pontefract and . . . yonder she goes!  One would never fancy you were bred in France.”

“Nor that you were really a sweet-tempered and charming demoiselle,” Sir Aymer answered good-naturedly.

She laughed merrily.  “One might think I were jealous of the Countess?”

“Yes . . . or of the Earl of Ware.”

“Or of all the others who hang about her,” she added.

De Lacy looked down at her with an amused smile.

“Methinks Ware is enough,” he said, with calm assertion.

She tossed her head in quick defiance.  “Your penetration, Sir Aymer, is extraordinary—­when it concerns others,” she retorted.

“And when it concerns myself?”

She answered with a shrug.

He went over and leaned on the casement beside her.

“Just how stupid am I?” he asked.

She turned and measured him with slow eyes.  “I am not sure it is stupidity,” she remarked; “some might call it modesty.”

He laughed.  “And which does the Lady Mary Percy call it?”

“I can tell you better a year hence.”

“Why so long a wait?”

“You will then have won or lost the Countess.”

He shook his head dubiously.

“How will that decide the matter?” he asked.

She smiled.  “Because only stupidity can lose.”

He looked at her curiously and in silence, a quicker beat at his pulse and she read his thoughts.

“Oh, I am betraying no confidences,” she said.  “Your lady gives none—­save possibly to the Duchess.  But I have been of the Household with Beatrix for two years and------”

“And . . . what?” he inflected.

“You can guess the rest—­if you are not stupid,” she said, turning away.

But he stayed her.  “My barge is at the landing.  Shall we follow . . . the others?” he suggested.

She hesitated—­then, catching up a cloak and scarf that lay on a couch, she nodded acquiescence.