“Pardon me, your highness; but there is no bad in you.  It has been put on you by others, and is all on the outside; there is none of it in your heart at all.  That evil which you think comes out of you, simply falls from you; your heart is all right, or I have greatly misjudged you.”  He was treating her almost as if she were a child.

“I fear, Master Brandon, you are the most adroit flatterer of all,” said Mary, shaking her head and looking up at him with a side glance, “people have deluged me with all kinds of flattery—­I have the different sorts listed and labeled—­but no one has ever gone to the extravagant length of calling me good.  Perhaps they think I do not care for that; but I like it best.  I don’t like the others at all.  If I am beautiful or not, it is as God made me, and I have nothing to do with it, and desire no credit, but if I could only be good it might be my own doing, perhaps, and I ought to have praise.  I wonder if there is really and truly any good in me, and if you have read me aright.”  Then looking up at him with a touch of consternation:  “Or are you laughing at me?”

Brandon wisely let the last suggestion pass unnoticed.

“I am sure that I am right; you have glorious capacities for good, but alas! corresponding possibilities for evil.  It will eventually all depend upon the man you marry.  He can make out of you a perfect woman, or the reverse.”  Again there was the surprised expression in Mary’s face, but Brandon’s serious look disarmed her.

“I fear you are right, as to the reverse, at any rate; and the worst of it is, I shall never be able to choose a man to help me, but shall sooner or later be compelled to marry the creature who will pay the greatest price.”

“God forbid!” said Brandon reverently.

They were growing rather serious, so Mary turned the conversation again into the laughing mood, and said, with a half sigh:  “Oh!  I hope you are right about the possibilities for good, but you do not know.  Wait until you have seen more of me.”

“I certainly hope I shall not have long to wait.”

The surprised eyes again glanced quickly up to the serious face, but the answer came:  “That you shall not:—­but here is the queen, and I suppose we must have the benediction.”  Brandon understood her hint—­that the preaching was over,—­and taking it for his dismissal, playfully lifted his hands in imitation of the old Bishop of Canterbury, and murmured the first line of the Latin benediction.  Then they both laughed and courtesied, and Brandon walked away.

CHAPTER IV

A Lesson in Dancing

I laughed heartily when Jane told me of the tilt between Brandon and Princess Mary, the latter of whom was in the habit of saying unkind things and being thanked for them.

Brandon was the wrong man to say them to, as Mary learned.  He was not hot-tempered; in fact, just the reverse, but he was the last man to brook an affront, and the quickest to resent, in a cool-headed, dangerous way, an intentional offense.