unfrequented route, and presented ourselves, as secretly as possible,
at the drawing-room of the princess.
The door was opened by Lady Jane, and we met the two girls almost at
the threshold. I had told Brandon of the bantering conversation about
the title and estates of the late Duke of Suffolk, and he had laughed
over it in the best of humor. If quick to retaliate for an intentional
offense, he was not thin-skinned at a piece of pleasantry, and had
none of that stiff, sensitive dignity, so troublesome to one's self
and friends.
Now, Jane and Mary were always bantering me because I was short, and
inclined to be--in fact--round, but I did not care. It made them
laugh, and their laughing was so contagious it made me laugh, too, and
we all enjoyed it. I would give a pound sterling any time for a good
laugh; and that, I think, is why I have always been--round.
So, upon entering, I said:
"His grace, the Duke of Suffolk, ladies."
They each made a sweeping courtesy, with hand on breast, and gravely
saluted him:
"Your grace! good even'."
Brandon's bow was as deep and graceful, if that were possible, as
theirs, and when he moved on into the room it was with a little halt
in his step, and a big blowing out of the cheeks, in ludicrous
imitation of his late lamented predecessor, that sent the girls into
peals of soft laughter and put us all at our ease immediately.
Ah! what a thing it is to look back upon; that time of life when one
finds his heaven in a ready laugh!
"Be seated all," said the princess. "This is to be without ceremony,
and only we four. No one knows a word of it. Did you tell any one, Sir
Edwin?"
"Perish the thought," I exclaimed.
She turned her face toward Brandon, "--but I know you did not. I've
heard how discreet you were about another matter. Well, no one knows
it then, and we can have a famous evening. You did not expect this,
Master Brandon, after my reception of you the other morning? Were you
not surprised when Sir Edwin told you?"
"I think I can safely say that I was prepared not to be surprised at
anything your highness might graciously conclude to do--after my first
experience," he answered, smiling.
"Indeed?" returned Mary with elevated eyebrows, and a rising
inflection on the last syllable of the word. It was now her turn for a
little surprise. "Well, we'll try to find some way to surprise you one
of these days;" and the time came when she was full of surprises for
him. Mary continued: "But let us not talk about the other day. Of what
use are 'other days,' anyway? Before the evening is over, Master
Brandon, we want you to give us another sermon," and she laughed,
setting off three other laughs as hearty and sincere as if she had
uttered the rarest witticism on earth.
The princess had told Jane and Jane had told me of the "Sermon in the
Park," as Mary called it.
"Jane needs it as much as I," said the princess.
"I can't believe that," responded Brandon, looking at Jane with a
softening glance quite too admiring and commendatory to suit me; for I
was a jealous little devil.
The eyebrows went up again.
"Oh! you think she doesn't? Well, in truth, Master Brandon, there is
one failing that can not be laid at your door; you are no flatterer."
For answer Brandon laughed, and that gave us the cue, and away we went
in a rippling chorus, all about nothing. Some persons may call our
laughter foolish, but there are others who consider it the height of
all wisdom. St. George! I'd give my Garter for just one other laugh
like that; for just one other hour of youth's dancing blood and
glowing soul-warmth; of sweet, unconscious, happy heart-beat and
paradise-creating joy in everything.
After a few minutes of gay conversation, in which we all joined, Mary
asked: "What shall we do? Will one of you suggest something?"
Jane sat there looking so demure you would have thought mischief could
not live within a league of her, but those very demure girls are
nearly always dangerous. She said, oh! so innocently:
"Would you like to dance? If so, I will play." And she reached for her
lute, which was by her side.
"Yes, that will be delightful. Master Brandon, will you dance with
me?" asked the princess, with a saucy little laugh, her invitation
meaning so much more to three of us than to Brandon. Jane and I joined
in the laugh, and when Mary clapped her hands that set Brandon off,
too, for he thought it the quaintest, prettiest little gesture in the
world, and was all unconscious that our laugh was at his expense.
Brandon did not answer Mary's invitation--the fit of laughter had
probably put it out of his mind--so she, evidently anxious to win or
lose her wager at once, again asked him if he danced.
"Oh, pardon me. Of course. Thank you." And he was on his feet beside
her chair in an instant ready for the dance. This time the girl's
laugh, though equally merry, had another tone, for she knew she had
lost.
Out they stepped upon the polished floor, he holding her hand in his,
awaiting the pause in the music to take the step. I shall never forget
the sight of those two standing there together--Mary, dark-eyed and
glowing; Brandon, almost rosy, with eyes that held the color of a deep
spring sky, and a wealth of flowing curls crowning his six feet of
perfect manhood, strong and vigorous as a young lion. Mary, full of
beauty-curves and graces, a veritable Venus in her teens, and Brandon,
an Apollo, with a touch of Hercules, were a complement each to the
other that would surely make a perfect one.
When the music started, off they went, heel and toe, bow and courtesy,
a step forward and a step back, in perfect time and rhythm--a poem of
human motion. Could Brandon dance? The princess had her answer in the
first ten steps. Nothing could be more graceful than Brandon's
dancing, unless it were Mary's. Her slightest movement was grace
itself. When she would throw herself backward in thrusting out her
toe, and then swing forward with her head a little to one side, her
uplifted arm undulating like the white neck of a swan,--for her
sleeve, which was slit to the shoulder, fell back and left it
bare,--she was a sight worth a long journey to see. And when she
looked up to Brandon with a laugh in her brown eyes, and a curving
smile just parting her full, red lips, that a man would give his very
luck to--but I had better stop.
"Was there ever a goodlier couple?" I asked Jane, by whose side I sat.
"Never," she responded as she played, and, strange to say, I was
jealous because she agreed with me. I was jealous because I feared it
was Brandon's beauty to which she referred. That I thought would
naturally appeal to her. Had he been less handsome, I should perhaps
have thought nothing of it, but I knew what my feelings were toward
Mary, and I judged, or rather misjudged, Jane by myself. I supposed
she would think of Brandon as I could not help thinking of Mary. Was
anything in heaven or earth ever so beautiful as that royal creature,
dancing there, daintily holding up her skirts with thumb and first
finger, just far enough to show a distracting little foot and ankle,
and make one wish he had been born a sheep rather than a sentient man
who had to live without Mary Tudor? Yet, strange as it may seem, I was
really and wholly in love with Jane; in fact, I loved no one but Jane,
and my feeling of intense admiration for Mary was but a part of man's
composite inconstancy.
A woman--God bless her--if she really loves a man, has no thought of
any other; one at a time is all-sufficient; but a man may love one
woman with the warmth of a simoon, and at the same time feel like a
good healthy south wind toward a dozen others. That is the difference
between a man and a woman--the difference between the good and the
bad. One average woman has enough goodness in her to supply an army of
men.
Mary and Brandon went on dancing long after Jane was tired of playing.
It was plain to see that the girl was thoroughly enjoying it. They
kept up a running fire of small talk, and laughed, and smiled, and
bowed, and courtesied, all in perfect time and grace.
It is more difficult than you may think, if you have never tried, to
keep up a conversation and dance La Galliard, at the same time--one is
apt to balk the other--but Brandon's dancing was as easy to him as
walking, and, although so small a matter, I could see it raised him
vastly in the estimation of both girls.
"Do you play triumph?" I heard Mary ask in the midst of the dancing.
"Oh! yes," replied Brandon, much to my delight, as the princess threw
a mischievous, knowing glance over her shoulder to see if I had heard.
She at once saw I had, and this, of course, settled the wager.
"And," continued Brandon, "I also play the new game, 'honor and
ruff,' which is more interesting than triumph."
"Oh! do you?" cried Mary. "That will more than compensate for the loss
of my ten crowns. Let us sit down at once; I have been wishing to
learn, but no one here seems to know it. In France, they say, it is
the only game. I suppose there is where you learned it? Perhaps you
know their new dances too! I have heard they are delightful!"
"Yes, I know them," replied Brandon.
"Why, you are a perfect treasure; teach me at once. How now, Master of
the Dance? Here is your friend outdoing you in your own line."
"I am glad to hear it," I returned.
"If Lady Jane will kindly play some lively air, written in the time of
'The Sailor Lass,' I will teach the Lady Mary the new dance," said
Brandon.
Jane threw one plump little knee over the other and struck up "The
Sailor Lass." After she had adjusted the playing to Brandon's
suggestion, he stepped deliberately in front of Mary, and, taking her
right hand in his left, encircled her waist with his right arm. The
girl was startled at first and drew away. This nettled Brandon a
little, and he showed it plainly.
"I thought you wished me to teach you the new dance?" he said.
"I do, but--but I did not know it was danced that way," she replied
with a fluttering little laugh, looking up into his face with a half
shy, half apologetic manner, and then dropping her lashes before
his gaze.
[Illustration]
"Oh, well!" said Brandon, with a Frenchman's shrug of the shoulders,
and then moved off as if about to leave the floor.
"But is that really the way you--they dance it? With your--their arm
around my--a lady's waist?"
"I should not have dared venture upon such a familiarity otherwise,"
answered Brandon, with a glimmer of a smile playing around his lips
and hiding in his eyes.
Mary saw this shadowy smile, and said: "Oh! I fear your modesty will
cause you hurt; I am beginning to believe you would dare do anything
you wish. I more than half suspect you are a very bold man,
notwithstanding your smooth, modest manner."
"You do me foul wrong, I assure you. I am the soul of modesty, and
grieve that you should think me bold," said Brandon, with a broadening
smile.
Mary interrupted him. "Now, I do believe you are laughing at me--at my
prudery, I suppose you think it."
Mary would rather have been called a fool than a prude, and I think
she was right. Prudery is no more a sign of virtue than a wig is of
hair. It is usually put on to hide a bald place.
The princess stood irresolute for a moment, in evident hesitation and
annoyance.
"You are grieving because I think you bold! And yet you stand there
laughing at me to my face. I think so more than ever now. I know it.
Oh, you make me angry! Don't! I do not like persons who anger me and
then laugh at me." This turned Brandon's smile into a laugh which he
could not hold back.
Mary's eyes shot fire, and she stamped her foot, exclaiming: "Sir,
this goes beyond all bounds; I will not tolerate your boldness another
moment." I thought she was going to dismiss him, but she did not. The
time had come when he or she must be the master.
It was a battle royal between the forces on the floor, and I enjoyed
it and felt that Brandon would come out all right.
He said good-humoredly: "What, shall you have all the laugh in your
sleeve at my expense? Do you expect to bring me here to win a wager
for you, made on the assumption of my stupidity and lack of social
accomplishments, and then complain when it comes my turn to laugh? I
think I am the one who should be offended, but you see I am not."
"Caskoden, did you tell him?" demanded Mary, evidently referring to
the wager.
"He said not a word of it," broke in Brandon, answering for me; "I
should have been a dullard, indeed, not to have seen it myself after
what you said about the loss of your ten crowns; so let us cry quits
and begin again."
Mary reluctantly struck her flag.
"Very well, I am willing," she said laughingly; "but as to your
boldness, I still insist upon that; I forgive you, however, this
time." Then, half apologetically, "After all, it is not such a
grievous charge to make. I believe it never yet injured any man with
women; they rather like it, I am afraid, however angry it makes them.
Don't they, Jane?"
Jane, of course, "did not know," so we all laughed, as usual, upon the
slightest pretext, and Mary, that fair bundle of contradictions and
quick transitions, stepped boldly up to Brandon, with her colors
flying in her cheeks, ready for the first lesson in the new dance.
She was a little frightened at his arm around her waist, for the
embrace was new to her--the first touch of man--and was shy and coy,
though willing, being determined to learn the dance. She was an apt
pupil and soon glided softly and gracefully around the room with
unfeigned delight; yielding to the new situation more easily as she
became accustomed to it.
This dance was livelier exercise than La Galliard, and Mary could not
talk much for lack of breath. Brandon kept the conversation going,
though, and she answered with glances, smiles, nods and
monosyllables--a very good vocabulary in its way, and a very good way,
too, for that matter.
Once he said something to her, in a low voice, which brought a flush
to her cheeks, and caused her to glance quickly up into his face. By
the time her answer came they were nearer us, and I heard her say: "I
am afraid I shall have to forgive you again if you are not careful.
Let me see an exhibition of that modesty you so much boast," But a
smile and a flash of the eyes went with the words, and took all the
sting out of them.
After a time the dancers stopped, and Mary, with flushed face and
sparkling eyes, sank into a chair, exclaiming: "The new dance is
delightful, Jane. It is like flying; your partner helps you so. But
what would the king say? And the queen? She would simply swoon with
horror. It is delightful, though." Then, with more confusion in her
manner than I had ever before seen: "That is, it is delightful if one
chooses her partner."
This only made matters worse, and gave Brandon an opportunity.
"Dare I hope?" he asked, with a deferential bow.
"Oh, yes; you may hope. I tell you frankly it was delightful with you.
Now, are you satisfied, my modest one? Jane, I see we have a forward
body here; no telling what he will be at next," said Mary, with
evident impatience, rapidly swaying her fan. She spoke almost sharply,
for Brandon's attitude was more that of an equal than she was
accustomed to, and her royal dignity, which was the artificial part of
her, rebelled against it now and then in spite of her real
inclinations. The habit of receiving only adulation, and living on a
pinnacle above everybody else, was so strong from continued practice,
that it appealed to her as a duty to maintain that elevation. She had
never before been called upon to exert herself in that direction, and
the situation was new. The servile ones with whom she usually
associated maintained it for her; so she now felt, whenever she
thought of it, that she was in duty bound to clamber back, at least
part of the way, to her dignity, however pleasant it was, personally,
down below in the denser atmosphere of informality.
In her heart the princess preferred, upon proper occasions, such as
this, to abate her dignity, and often requested others to dispense
with ceremony, as, in fact, she had done with us earlier in the
evening. But Brandon's easy manner, although perfectly respectful and
elegantly polite, was very different from anything she had ever known.
She enjoyed it, but every now and then the sense of her importance and
dignity--for you must remember she was the first princess of the blood
royal--would supersede even her love of enjoyment, and the girl went
down and the princess came up. Besides, she half feared that Brandon
was amusing himself at her expense, and that, in fact, this was a new
sort of masculine worm. Really, she sometimes doubted if it were a
worm at all, and did not know what to expect, nor what she ought to
do.
She was far more girl than princess, and would have preferred to
remain merely girl and let events take the course they were going,
for she liked it. But there was the other part of her which was
princess, and which kept saying: "Remember who you are," so she was
plainly at a loss between natural and artificial inclinations
contending unconsciously within her.
Replying to Mary's remark over Jane's shoulder, Brandon said:
"Your highness asked us to lay aside ceremony for the evening, and if
I have offended I can but make for my excuse my desire to please you.
Be sure I shall offend no more." This was said so seriously that his
meaning could not be misunderstood. He did not care whether he pleased
so capricious a person or not.
Mary made no reply, and it looked as if Brandon had the worst of it.
We sat a few minutes talking, Mary wearing an air of dignity. Cards
were proposed, and as the game progressed she gradually unbent again
and became as affable and familiar as earlier in the evening. Brandon,
however, was frozen. He was polite, dignified and deferential to the
ladies, but the spirit of the evening was gone, since he had furnished
it all with his free, off-hand manner, full of life and brightness.
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:
"No; thank you; not to-night." Then shyly glancing toward me: "Perhaps
Sir Edwin will teach me when he learns. It is his business, you know."
Would I? If a month, night and day, would conquer it, the new dance
was as good as done for already. That was the first real mark of favor
I ever had from Jane.
We now had some songs from Mary and Jane; then I gave one, and Brandon
sang again at Mary's request. We had duets and quartets and solos, and
the songs were all sweet, for they came from the heart of youth, and
went to the soul of youth, rich in its God-given fresh delight in
everything. Then we talked, and Mary, and Jane, too, with a sly, shy,
soft little word now and then, drew Brandon out to tell of his travels
and adventures. He was a pleasing talker, and had a smooth, easy flow
of words, speaking always in a low, clear voice, and with perfect
composure. He had a way of looking first one auditor and then another
straight in the eyes with a magnetic effect that gave to everything he
said an added interest. Although at that time less than twenty-five
years old, he was really a learned man, having studied at Barcelona,
Salamanca and Paris. While there had been no system in his education,
his mind was a sort of knowledge junk-shop, wherein he could find
almost anything he wanted. He spoke German, French and Spanish, and
seemed to know the literature of all these languages.
He told us he had left home at the early age of sixteen as his uncle's
esquire, and had fought in France, then down in Holland with the
Dutch; had been captured by the Spanish and had joined the Spanish
army, as it mattered not where he fought, so that there was a chance
for honorable achievement and a fair ransom now and then. He told us
how he had gone to Barcelona and Salamanca, where he had studied, and
thence to Granada, among the Moors; of his fighting against the
pirates of Barbary, his capture by them, his slavery and adventurous
escape; and his regret that now drowsy peace kept him mewed up in a
palace.
"It is true," he said, "there is a prospect of trouble with Scotland,
but I would rather fight a pack of howling, starving wolves than the
Scotch; they fight like very devils, which, of course, is well; but
you have nothing after you have beaten them, not even a good whole
wolf skin."
In an unfortunate moment Mary said: "Oh, Master Brandon, tell us of
your duel with Judson."
Thoughtful, considerate Jane frowned at the princess in surprise, and
put her finger on her lips.
"Your ladyship, I fear I can not," he answered, and left his seat,
going over to the window, where he stood, with his back toward us,
looking out into the darkness. Mary saw what she had done, and her
eyes grew moist, for, with all her faults, she had a warm, tender
heart and a quick, responsive sympathy. After a few seconds of painful
silence, she went softly over to the window where Brandon stood.
"Sir, forgive me," she said, putting her hand prettily upon his arm.
"I should have known. Believe me, I would not have hurt you
intentionally."
"Ah! my lady, the word was thoughtlessly spoken, and needs no
forgiveness; but your heart shows itself in the asking, and I thank
you: I wanted but a moment to throw off the thought of that terrible
day." Then they came back together, and the princess, who had tact
enough when she cared to use it, soon put matters right again.