I went out, thinking it very probable that Henry had sent me a present; though it was his more usual custom on this day to honour me with a visit, and declare his generous intentions by word of mouth, when we had both retired to my library and the door was closed. Still, on one or two occasions he had sent me a horse from his stables, a brace of Indian fowl, a melon or the like, as a foretaste; and this I supposed to be the errand on which the man had come.

His first words disabused me. "May it please your excellency," he said, very civilly, "the King desires to be remembered to you as usual, and would ]earn whether you know anything of Mademoiselle D'Oyley."

"Of whom?" I cried, astonished.

"Of Mademoiselle D'Oyley, her Majesty's maid of honour."

"Not I, i'faith!" I said, drily. "I am no squire of dames, to say nothing of maids!"

"If he has sent that message," I replied, "has yet something to learn--that I do not interest myself in maids of honour or such frailties."

The man smiled. "I do not think," he began, "that it was his Majesty--"

"Sent the message?" I said. "No, but the Queen, I suppose."