“And not too sober,” she answered. “I was told that you never smiled. I have seen you smile this night.”
“That is due to being in your Majesty’s presence.”
“Ah!” sighed the Queen. “You are gallant … you Spaniards.”
“Your Majesty is half Spanish.”
“That is true. My mother would often talk to me of Spain.” Her mouth squared, as it always did when she spoke of her mother. “I longed to visit that country and know more of my mother’s people.”
“And now one of them comes forth to wed you.”
“There was talk, at one time, that I should marry your father.”
“That was when you were a baby and he a young man.”
“He wrote to me recently and said he remembered that he was once affianced to me. He said it was ever a matter of regret with him that nothing came of it. He said he was sending me his son, who was young, handsome, and strong, while he had grown ugly, old, and tired. Why, had I married him you might be my son!”
“Impossible! Impossible! We are of an age.”
She was pleased. Did she really think that he did not know she was eleven years older than he was? That was impossible, for time had not been very gracious to her. It had engraved its marks on her face—lines of suffering, lines of bitterness, anxiety, and sickness. Poor Mary!
He said: “What must you think of me—unable to speak your language?”
“I will teach it to you … Philip.”
“I trust, Mary, that I shall be an apt pupil in all that you teach me.”
“Nay, you must be the one to teach, I the one to learn.”
Yes, he thought; that must be. I must make you see that I will govern this kingdom in accordance with the Emperor’s wishes.
He longed to leave her, but now she was growing bolder. She let her hand rest on his sleeve. He looked at it, and with an effort he took those heavily ringed fingers in his. She was smiling and he could feel her trembling as he raised her hand to his lips.
He knew that he was watched, that the English were saying: “He is winning the Queen’s heart with his chivalrous Spanish manners.” And the Spaniards were saying: “We did not know Philip. What a man he is! He can act any part for the glory of Spain, for he surely cannot be as enamored of the old lady as he pretends to be— particularly when some of the other ladies are so charming.”
At length Philip said: “I will not keep you from your sleep any longer, gracious lady. Now you shall teach me to say ‘Goodnight’ in English, and I shall say it to the ladies here and in the next room. Then I shall leave you until the morning.”
She enjoyed teaching him the words for he found them so difficult to say.
Then Philip kissed her hand and went to the door of that room in which the ladies were, and there he cried out in Latin: “But I have forgotten. What is it? Gooda … What is it?”
Then, while the Queen smiled in almost childish pleasure, he went back to her and learned the words again; then he went to the ladies and said it in such a manner as to set them all laughing and repeating “Goodnight” with that Spanish accent which they said was so charming.
“Your Highness,” said Ruy, when they were alone, “goes from strength to strength. Why, the lady dotes on you already.”
But his words did not please Philip. He had discarded the gay mask of the wooer and become the sober young man whom his friends knew so well.
Mistress Clarencius, her old nurse, whom Mary regarded as one of her true friends, was obviously in a state of high delight.
“He is a lovely little King,” she declared. “I thank God for the day he landed here to make your Majesty the good husband I know he will.”
Tall Magdalen Dacre said: “How magnificent he looked, your Majesty! And he had eyes for none but yourself!”
Mary said sadly: “But he is so much younger than I.”
“None would guess it, your Majesty.”
But Mary knew that they did not speak the truth.
Jane Dormer had said nothing, and, turning to her, the Queen inquired: “And what think you, Jane? What thought you of our visitors?”
“The Spanish gentlemen are very handsome, your Majesty. And it is a great joy to us to know that your Grace is to marry a strong adherent of the Holy Catholic Church.”
Janet was thinking of the handsome Count of Feria, whom she had found at her side in the gallery. They had talked together, for he spoke English with remarkable fluency. Jane was as excited as her mistress; if she was struck with the handsomeness of the Spanish gentlemen, Feria had been equally impressed with the beauty of at least one English girl.
Mary looked at Jane and smiled, for she had noticed her with Feria during the evening; she had felt envious of the girl’s youth and beauty. How wonderful it must be to attract by those qualities, she thought, and not because one was the daughter of a king.
