As often as not he sat on the floor at her feet while she worked at those age-long tapestries which her generation loved; leaning his head back to her knee, he would so lie and search her face, and wonder to himself what the world to come could have more fair to show than this calm treasurer of lovely flesh.

This was, at the time, her chief glory, that with all her riches--fragrant allure, soft warmth, the delicacy, nice luxury of her every part, the glow, the tincture, the throbbing fire--she could keep a strong hand upon herself; sway herself modestly; have so much and give so little; be so apt for a bridal, and yet without a sigh play the nun! 'If she, being devirginate through me, can cry herself virgin again--then cannot I, by the King of Heaven ?' This was Richard's day-thought, a very mannish thought; for women do not consider their own beauties so closely, see no divinity in themselves, and find a man to be a glorious fool to think one of them more desirable than another.

He never spoke this thought, but worshipped her silently for the most part; and she, reading the homage of his upturned face, steeled herself against the sweet flattery, held her peace, and in her fierce proud mind made endless plots against his.
In silence their souls conversed upon a theme never mentioned between them.

His restless quest of her face taught him much, disposed him; she, with all the good guile of women to her hand, waited, judging the time.
Then one day as they sat together in a window she suddenly slipped away from his hand, dropped to her knees, and began to pray.
For a while he let her alone, finding the act as lovely as she.

But presently he stooped his face till it almost touched her cheek, and 'Tell me thy prayer, dear heart! Let me pray also!' he whispered.
'I pray for my lord the King,' she said.