The king did not open these private balls, as he was supposed, at least, not to be their patron, and the queen, who was considerably older than Henry, was averse to such things.  So the princess opened her own balls, dancing for a few minutes with the floor entirely to herself and partner.  It was the honor of the evening to open the ball with her, and quite curious to see how men put themselves in her way and stood so as to be easily observed and perchance chosen.  Brandon, after leaving Mary, had drifted into a corner of the room back of a group of people, and was talking to Wolsey—­who was always very friendly to him—­and to Master Cavendish, a quaint, quiet, easy little man, full of learning and kindness, and a warm friend to the Princess Mary.

It was time to open the ball, and, from my place in the musicians’ gallery, I could see Mary moving about among the guests, evidently looking for a partner, while the men resorted to some very transparent and amusing expedients to attract her attention.  The princess, however, took none of the bidders, and soon, I noticed, she espied Brandon standing in the corner with his back toward her.

Something told me she was going to ask him to open the dance, and I regretted it, because I knew it would set every nobleman in the house against him, they being very jealous of the “low-born favorites,” as they called the untitled friends of royalty.  Sure enough, I was right.  Mary at once began to make her way over to the corner, and I heard her say:  “Master Brandon, will you dance with me?”

It was done prettily.  The whole girl changed as soon as she found herself in front of him.  In place of the old-time confidence, strongly tinged with arrogance, she was almost shy, and blushed and stammered with quick coming breath, like a burgher maid before her new-found gallant.  At once the courtiers made way for her, and out she walked, leading Brandon by the hand.  Upon her lips and in her eyes was a rare triumphant smile, as if to say: 

“Look at this handsome new trophy of my bow and spear.”

I was surprised and alarmed when Mary chose Brandon, but when I turned to the musicians to direct their play, imagine, if you can, my surprise when the leader said: 

“Master, we have our orders for the first dance from the princess.”

Imagine, also, if you can, my double surprise and alarm, nay, almost my terror, when the band struck up Jane’s “Sailor Lass.”  I saw the look of surprise and inquiry which Brandon gave Mary, standing there demurely by his side, when he first heard the music, and I heard her nervous little laugh as, she nodded her head, “Yes,” and stepped closer to him to take position for the dance.  The next moment she was in Brandon’s arms, flying like a sylph about the room.  A buzz of astonishment and delight greeted them before they were half way around, and then a great clapping of hands, in which the king himself joined.  It was a lovely sight, although, I think, a graceful woman is more beautiful in La Galliard than any other dance, or, in fact, any other situation in which she can place herself.