"He has no degree; he is a plain, untitled soldier, not even a knight;
that is, not an English knight. I think he has a German or Spanish
order of some sort."

"Not a duke; not an earl; not even a baron or knight? Now he has
become interesting."

"Yes, I suppose so; but don't bother me."

"Will he be at the dance and banquet to-night?"

"No! No! Now I must go; don't bother me, I say." And the king moved
away.

That night we had a grand banquet and dance at Westminster, and the
next day we all, excepting Lady Mary, went back to Greenwich by boat,
paying a farthing a head for our fare. This was just after the law
fixing the boat fare, and the watermen were a quarreling lot, you may
be sure. One farthing from Westminster to Greenwich! Eight miles. No
wonder they were angry.

The next day I went back to London on an errand, and over to Wolsey's
house to borrow a book. While there Master Cavendish, Wolsey's
secretary, presented me to the handsome stranger, and he proved to be
no other than Charles Brandon, who had fought the terrible duel down
in Suffolk. I could hardly believe that so mild-mannered and boyish a
person could have taken the leading part in such a tragedy. But with
all his gentleness there was an underlying dash of cool daring which
intimated plainly enough that he was not all mildness.