’Why, child! thou lookest like a ghost!  Was afeard of the man in my presence?’

’No, madam; but it seemed to me marvellous that his majesty’s messenger should receive such words from my mistress, and in my lord of Worcester’s house.’

‘I’ faith, marvellous it is, Dorothy, that there should be such good cause so to use him!’ returned lady Glamorgan, tears of vexation rising as she spoke.  ‘But an’ thou think I used the man roughly, thou shouldst have heard my father speak to him his mind of the king his master.’

‘Hath the king then shown himself unkingly, madam?’ said Dorothy aghast.

Whereupon lady Glamorgan told her all she knew, and all she could remember of what she had heard the marquis say to Boteler.

‘Trust me, child,’ she added, ’my lord Worcester, no less than I am, is cut to the heart by this behaviour of the king’s.  That my husband, silly angel, should say nothing, is but like him.  He would bear and bear till all was borne.’

‘But,’ said Dorothy, ‘the king is still the king.’

‘Let him be the king then,’ returned her mistress.  ’Let him look to his kingdom.  Why should I give him my husband to do it for him and be disowned therein?  I thank heaven I can do without a king, but I can’t do without my Ned, and there he lies in prison for him who cons him no thanks!  Not that I would overmuch heed the prison if the king would but share the blame with him; but for the king to deny him—­to say that he did all of his own motion and without authority!—­why, child, I saw the commission with my own eyes, nor count myself under any farther obligation to hold my peace concerning it!  I know my husband will bear all things, even disgrace itself, undeserved, for the king’s sake:  he is the loveliest of martyrs; but that is no reason why I should bear it.  The king hath no heart and no conscience.  No, I will not say that; but I will say that he hath little heart and less conscience.  My good husband’s fair name is gone—­blasted by the king, who raiseth the mist of Glamorgan’s dishonour that he may hide himself safe behind it.  I tell thee, Dorothy Vaughan, I should not have grudged his majesty my lord’s life, an’ he had been but a right kingly king.  I should have wept enough and complained too much, in womanish fashion, doubtless; but I tell thee earl Thomond’s daughter would not have grudged it.  But my lord’s truth and honour are dear to him, and the good report of them is dear to me.  I swear I can ill brook carrying the title he hath given me.  It is my husband’s and not mine, else would I fling it in his face who thus wrongs my Herbert.’