After a short time, Mary’s warming mood failing to thaw our frozen fun-maker, and in her heart infinitely preferring pleasure to dignity, she said:  “Oh, this is wearisome.  Your game is far less entertaining than your new dance.  Do something to make me laugh, Master Brandon.”

“I fear you must call in Will Sommers,” he replied, “if you wish to laugh.  I can not please you in both ways, so will hold to the one which seems to suit the princess.”

Mary’s eyes flashed and she said ironically: 

“That sounds very much as though you cared to please me in any way.”  Her lips parted and she evidently had something unkind ready to say; but she held the breath she had taken to speak it with, and, after one or two false starts in as many different lines, continued:  “But perhaps I deserve it, I ask you to forgive me, and hereafter desire you three, upon all proper occasions, when we are by ourselves, to treat me as one of you—­as a woman—­a girl, I mean.  Where is the virtue of royalty if it only means being put upon a pinnacle above all the real pleasures of life, like foolish old Stylites on his column?  The queen is always preaching to me about the strict maintenance of my ‘dignity royal,’ as she calls it, and perhaps she is right; but out upon ‘dignity royal’ say I; it is a terrible nuisance.  Oh, you don’t know how difficult it is to be a princess and not a fool.  There!” And she sighed in apparent relief.

Then turning to Brandon:  “You have taught me another good lesson, sir, and from this hour you are my friend, if you will be, so long as you are worthy—­no, I do not mean that; I know you will always be worthy—­but forever.  Now we are at rights again.  Let us try to remain so—­that is, I will,” and she laughingly gave him her hand, which he, rising to his feet, bowed low over and kissed, rather fervently and lingeringly, I thought.

Hand-kissing was new to us in England, excepting in case of the king and queen at public homage.  It was a little startling to Mary, though she permitted him to hold her hand much longer than there was any sort of need—­a fact she recognized, as I could easily see from her tell-tale cheeks, which were rosy with the thought of it.

So it is when a woman goes on the defensive prematurely and without cause; it makes it harder to apply the check when the real need comes.

After a little card-playing, I expressed regret to Jane that I could not have a dance with her for lack of music.

“I will play, if the ladies permit,” said Brandon; and he took Lady Jane’s lute and played and sang some very pretty little love songs and some comic ones, too, in a style not often heard in England, so far away from the home of the troubadour and lute.  He was full of surprises, this splendid fellow, with his accomplishments and graces.

When we had danced as long as we wished—­that is, as Jane wished—­as for myself, I would have been dancing yet—­Mary again asked us to be seated.  Jane having rested, Brandon offered to teach her the new dance, saying he could whistle an air well enough to give her the step.  I at once grew uneasy with jealous suspense, for I did not wish Brandon to dance in that fashion with Jane, but to my great relief she replied: