Wogan was fairly well pleased with his apology for his King.

It was not quite the truth, no doubt, but it had spared Clementina a trifle of humiliation, and had re-established the King in her thoughts.

He bent over her hand and would have kissed it, but she stopped him.
"No," said she, "an honest handclasp, if you please; for no woman can have ever lived who had a truer friend," and Wogan, looking into her frank eyes, was not, after all, nearly so well pleased with the untruth he had told her.

She was an uncomfortable woman to go about with shifts and contrivances.

Her open face, with its broad forehead and the clear, steady eyes of darkest blue, claimed truth as a prerogative.