Norse goddess, with the breath of the sea and[14] the pines in her nostrils, than a figure in a world of luxury and pampered ease. Her eyes, clear and full, were strangers to qualms and apprehensions, and the thought of a possible scene with this impertinent Frenchman gave them a sparkle which added to their shadowed luster. In the thinking, she did Monsieur Mornay the honor to add just one more patch to her chin. And then, of course, if trouble arose and the worst came, there was Captain Ferrers, whom she might marry some day, or her guardian, Sir Henry Heywood, who could be called upon. Little did she know of the meeting between Mornay and Sir Henry, arranged for that very morning, which had miscarried because of an untimely intervention by the watch.

[14]

The Duke of Dorset danced well. When Mistress Clerke entered his ballroom the tabors were sounding for a brawl. His grace espied her at this moment, and, coming forward with an air of the grand seigneur which many a younger man might have envied him, carried her off under the very noses of Wynne,[15] Howard, Russell, and Jermyn, to say nothing of Captain Ferrers, who had brought her there in his coach.

[15]

It was a very merry dance, better suited to young legs than to old, and Mistress Barbara, with a rare grace, put even his grace’s spryness to the test. Monsieur Mornay, who had just come in, made to himself the solemn promise that if it lay in his power she should favor him upon that evening. If he suspected that she would receive him with an ill grace, he did not show it, for he made no scruple to hide his open admiration as she danced along the gallery. Twice she passed the spot where he stood, and once she looked quite through him at the blank wall behind. But, unabashed, when the dance was done he lost no time in letting the Duke of Dorset know that he wished to be presented, in such a manner that recognition would be unavoidable.

“With all the good-will in the world,” said his grace. “Another moth to the flame,” he laughed. “Another star to the constellation.[16] Be careful, Sir Frenchman. ’Tis not a lady pleased with frivolity.”

[16]

“Monsieur, behold,” said Mornay, piously, “I am as solemn as a judge—as virtuous as—ma foi! as virtuous as the she-dragon duenna of the Queen.”

“Nor will that please her better,” said Captain Cornbury, who had come up at this moment. “I’ faith, Mornay, she’s most difficult—as full 

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