“One such as this, yes!” laughed Anne.
Catherine tried to pluck out the beautiful eyes.
“She admires you vastly!” said Jocosa.
Anne went to a chair and sat down, holding Catherine on her lap, while her grandmother drew Jocosa into a corner and chatted with her of the proposed match for Anne, of the advancement of Sir Thomas and George Boleyn, of Mary and the King.
Catherine’s little hands explored the lovely dress, the glittering jewels; and the child laughed happily as she did so.
“They make a pretty picture,” said the Duchess. “I think I am proud of my granddaughters, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. They are such pretty creatures, both of them.”
Catherine’s fingers had curled about a jeweled tablet which hung by a silken cord from Anne’s waist; it was a valuable trinket.
“Would you like to have it for your own, little Catherine?” whispered Anne, and detached it. They can doubtless sell it, she thought. It is not much, but it is something. I can see it would be useless to offer help openly to Uncle Edmund.
When they said farewell, Catherine shed tears.
“Why, look what the child has!” cried the Duchess. “It is yours, is it not, Anne? Catherine Howard, Catherine Howard, are you a little thief then?”
“It is a gift,” said Anne hastily. “She liked it, and I have another.”
It was pleasant to be back at Hever after such a long absence. How quiet were the Kentish woods, how solitary the green meadows! She had hoped to see the Wyatts, but they were not in residence at Allington Castle just now; and it was a quiet life she led, reading, sewing, playing and singing with her mother. She was content to enjoy these lazy days, for she had little desire to marry the young man whom it had been ordained she should. She accepted the marriage as a matter of course, as she had known from childhood that when she reached a certain age a match would be made for her. This was it; but how pleasant to pass these days at quiet Hever, wandering through the grounds which she would always love because of those childhood memories they held for her.
Mary paid a visit to Hever; splendidly dressed—Anne considered her over-dressed—she was very gay and lively. Her laughter rang through the castle, shattering its peace. Mary admired her sister, and was too good-natured not to admit it wholeheartedly. “You should do well at court, sister Anne,” she told her. “You would create much excitement, I trow. And those clothes! I have never seen the like; and who but you could wear them with effect!”
They lay under the old apple trees in the orchard together; Mary, lazy and plump, carefully placing a kerchief over her bosom to prevent the sun from spoiling its whiteness.
“I think now and then,” said Mary, “of my visit to you...Do you remember Ardres?”
“Yes,” said Anne, “I remember perfectly.”
“And how you disapproved of me then? Did you not? Confess it.”
“Did I show it then?”
“Indeed you did, Madam! You looked down your haughty nose at me and disapproved right heartily. You cannot say you disapprove now, I trow.”
“I think you have changed very little,” said Anne.
Mary giggled. “
“The tastes of all are naturally not alike.”
“There was one who approved most heartily—and he of no small import either!”
“I perceive,” said Anne, laughing, “that you yearn to tell me of your love affairs.”
“And you are not interested?”
“Not very. I am sure you have had many, and that they are all monotonously similar.”
“Indeed! And what if I were to tell His Majesty of that!”
“Do you then pour your girlish confidences into the royal ear?”
“I do now and then, Anne, when I think they may amuse His Grace.”
“What is this?” said Anne, raising herself to look more closely at her sister.
“I was about to tell you. Did I not say that though you might disapprove of me, there was one who does not? Listen, sister. The night I left you to return to the Guisnes Palace I met him; he spoke to me, and we found we liked each other.”
Anne’s face flushed, then paled; she was understanding many things—the chatter of her grandmother, the glances of her Aunt Jocosa, the nurse’s rather self-righteous indignation. One of the heroes of Flodden may starve, but the family of Boleyn shall flourish, for the King likes well one of its daughters.
“How long?” asked Anne shortly.
“From then to now. He is eager for me still. There never was such a man! Anne, I could tell you...”
“I beg that you will not.”
Mary shrugged her shoulders and rolled over on the grass like an amorous cat.
“And William, your husband?” said Anne
