_CHAPTER III_

_The Princess Mary_


Now, at that time, Mary, the king's sister, was just ripening into her
greatest womanly perfection. Her skin was like velvet; a rich, clear,
rosy snow, with the hot young blood glowing through it like the faint
red tinge we sometimes see on the inner side of a white rose leaf. Her
hair was a very light brown, almost golden, and fluffy, soft, and fine
as a skein of Arras silk. She was of medium height, with a figure that
Venus might have envied. Her feet and hands were small, and apparently
made for the sole purpose of driving mankind distracted. In fact, that
seemed to be the paramount object in her creation, for she had the
world of men at her feet. Her greatest beauty was her glowing dark
brown eyes, which shone with an ever-changing luster from beneath the
shade of the longest, blackest upcurving lashes ever seen.

Her voice was soft and full, and, except when angry, which, alas, was
not infrequent, had a low and coaxing little note that made it
irresistible; she was a most adroit coaxer, and knew her power full
well, although she did not always plead, having the Tudor temper and
preferring to command--when she could. As before hinted, she had
coaxed her royal brother out of several proposed marriages for her,
which would have been greatly to his advantage; and if you had only
known Henry Tudor, with his vain, boisterous, stubborn violence, you
could form some idea of Mary's powers by that achievement alone.

Will Sommers, the fool, one day spread through court an announcement
that there would be a public exhibition in the main hall of the palace