Her face was almost waxen now, blue
shadowed beneath the two waves of pale hair; she had a small mouth, a
delicate nose, and large, searching hazel eyes. Her head-dress was of
white, with silver pins in it; a light white shawl was clasped
cross-wise over her shoulders; and she wore a loose brocaded
dressing-gown beneath it. Her hands, clasped as if in prayer, emerged
out of deep lace-fringed sleeves, and were covered with rings. But it
was the air of almost superhuman delicacy that breathed from her most
forcibly; and, when she spoke, a ring of assured decision revealed her
quiet consciousness of royalty. It was an extraordinary mingling of
fragility and power, of which this feminine and royal room was the
proper frame.
Sir Amyas knelt perfunctorily, as if impatient of it; and rose up again
at once without waiting for the signal. Mary lifted her fingers a little
as a sign to the other two.
"I have brought the French doctor, madam," said the soldier abruptly.
"But he must see your Grace in my presence."
"Then you might as well have spared him, and yourself, the pains, sir,"
came the quiet, dignified voice. "I do not choose to be examined in your
presence."
Robin lifted his eyes to her face; but although he thought he caught an
under air of intense desire towards him and That which he bore, there
was no faltering in the tone of her voice. It was, as some man said, as
"soft as running water heard by night."
"This is absurd, madam.
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