"I heard them speak of Madame Ellen," he answered. "They said something
about some pretty things made of gold and that the people were angry
that they were for her Grace of Portsmouth instead of Madame Ellen. Why
do they like her better?"

Mistress Halsell took his hand and walked with him to their favourite
seat in the big window.

"It is because she is the better woman of the two, my lord," she said.

"Is the other one bad, then?" he inquired. "And why does his Majesty
give her things made of gold?"

"To pay her," answered Mistress Rebecca, looking thoughtfully out of
the window.

"For what?" the young Marquess asked.

"For--for that an honest woman should not take pay for."

"Then why does he love her? Is he a bad King?" his voice lowering as he
said it and his brown-eyed, ruddy little face grown solemn.

"A quiet woman in a place like mine cannot judge of Kings," she
answered; "but to be King is a grave thing."

"Grave!" cried he; "I thought it was very splendid. All England belongs
to him; he wears a gold crown and people kneel to kiss his hand. My
father and mother kneel to him when they go to the Court."