She was thinner and there were heavy shadows
beneath her eyes, but she was beautiful.
"I stand before gentlemen to whom, perhaps, I am not utterly
unknown," she said. "Some here, perchance, have been to court,
and have seen me there. Master Sandys, once, before the Queen
died, you came to Greenwich to kiss her Majesty's hands; and
while you waited in her antechamber you saw a young maid of
honor - scarce more than a child - curled in a window seat with a
book. You sat beside her, and told her wonderful tales of sunny
lands and gods and nymphs. I was that maid of honor. Master
Clayborne, once, hawking near Windsor, I dropped my glove.
There were a many out of their saddles before it touched the
ground, but a gentleman, not of our party, who had drawn his horse
to one side to let us pass, was quicker than they all. Did you not
think yourself well paid, sir, when you kissed the hand to which
you restored the glove? All here, I think, may have heard my name.
If any hath heard aught that ever I did in all my life to tarnish it, I
pray him to speak now and shame me before you all!"
Clayborne started up. "I remember that day at Windsor, lady!" he
cried. "The man of whom I afterward asked your name was a most
libertine courtier, and he raised his hat when he spoke of you,
calling you a lily which the mire of the court could not besmirch.
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