“New?  May be, my lord—­the term is but relative—­yet I would scarce call him so:  his ancestor came with Norman William and built Pontefract.”

“So . . . one of old Ilbert’s stock.  Well, even a Ware may not cavil at that blood . . . though it is passing strange I never heard of him until within the week.”

“Strange for him or for you?” she asked.

“For me, of course—­seeing that he has been so much at Court.”  The tone was bantering, yet the sarcasm was deliberately veiled.

She turned upon him rather sharply.

“My lord,” said she, “if you would criticise Sir Aymer de Lacy, do not, I pray, make me your confidant.  He is my good friend.”

“And you like him . . . well?” he questioned.

“Aye, that I do,” she retorted instantly.  “It is a pity his sort are growing scarce.”

“His sort!” the Earl inflected.  “In family, mean you, or in looks?”

“In manners, mainly.”

The Earl shrugged his shoulders.  “French training,” he drawled.  “There never was one came from that Court but caught you all with his bow and talk.”

“Perchance, my lord, it has never occurred to you that, save in him she wed, a woman cares only for a man’s manners and his speech.”

“And what does she care for in him she weds?”

“Ask her whom you wed.”

“And what, think you, will the bride of this De Lacy find in him beneath his bow and speech?”

She turned and looked him in the eyes.

“An English gentleman—­a trusty Knight,” she answered.

He laughed—­and now his air was light and merry.

“Believe me, my lady, I have no quarrel with your De Lacy,” he said; “I, too, like him well.  But I envy him his champion.  Marry, how you rapped me with voice and eye.  I wonder, would you do the same for me?”

“Yes, for you . . . and the Lady Mary.”

“And why the Lady Mary?” he asked, after a pause.

“If you do not know, then there is no ‘why,’” said she, facing about and looking up stream.  “However, she is coming and, perchance, can answer for herself.  Shall I ask her . . . or will you?”

The touching of the boat just inside the St. Thomas Gate saved him an answer.  Giving the Countess his hand he aided her to alight, and almost immediately De Lacy’s barge ran in; and, he and Lady Mary disembarking, the four sauntered across the vast courtyard toward the royal lodge.

As they turned into one of the shaded walks the Earl of Ware, who chanced to be a pace in advance, suddenly halted and drew aside, his bonnet doffed, his attitude deeply respectful.

“The King!” exclaimed De Lacy, and they all fell back.