"
Mary looked at him sideways and her lips twitched a little.
"Yes--or the grace of God, as you say."
The two laughed into each other's eyes, for they understood one another
well. Presently Mary went on:
"When you and I fence together at table, she does not turn frigid like so
many holy folk--or peevish and bewildered like stupid folk--but she just
looks at us, and laughs far down in those deep grey eyes of hers. Oh! I
love her!" ended Mary.
They walked in silence a minute or two.
"And I think I do," said Mr. Buxton softly.
"Eh?" exclaimed Mary, "you do what?" She had quite forgotten her last
sentence.
"It is no matter," he said yet more softly; and would say no more.
Presently the talk fell on the Maxwells; and came round to Hubert.
"They say he would be a favourite at Court," said Mary, "had he not a
wife. But her Grace likes not married men. She looked kindly upon him at
Deptford, I know; and I have seen him at Greenwich. You know, of course,
about Isabel?"
Mr. Buxton shook his head.
"Why, it was common talk that they would have been man and wife years
ago, had not the fool apostatised."
Her companion questioned her further, and soon had the whole story out of
her. "But I am thankful," ended Mary, "that it has so ended."
The next day she went back to Court; and it was with real grief that the
three watched her wonderful plumed riding-hat trot along behind the top
of the churchyard wall, with her woman beside her, and her little
liveried troop of men following at a distance.
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