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thing!”
    â€œOf course not. As a matter of fact, the post mortem proved that Lady Denham had not been poisoned at all. So it was a lot of lies.”
    â€œNot all,” I said. “I suppose Sir John did go mad and his wife did take a lover, and that lover was . . .”
    â€œDear Lady Mary,” said my friend Anne. “You must see the world as it really is. You cannot shut your eyes to the truth. Your father is not unlike the King in this. They were both born to love women. It is part of their natures. I sometimes think that the King is so greatly loved because of this weakness. He is the people’s charming, wayward King. He has so much that is good in him and must be forgiven this foible. And as for your father, he loves you dearly, as you love him. This love between you is a precious thing, the best you will ever know until you have a husband who will love you, too. Accept what is good in life. Do not allow others to influence your feelings toward those you love.”
    â€œI wanted him to be perfect, Anne.”
    â€œNo one is that. Life is very rarely perfect and never for long. If you are going to savor the best of it, accept what cannot be changed and enjoy it while you are able. When you have learned to do that you have mastered as valued a lesson as ever Bishop Compton can teach you.”

THE STEPMOTHER
    My father came to see me. He wanted to be alone with me and I knew he had something of great importance to tell me.
    â€œMy dearest daughter,” he said. “I want to talk to you very seriously. I know you are young, but I want you to try to understand the position in which I find myself.”
    I nestled closer to him. No matter what evil stories I heard about his relationships with women, I still loved him the same. To me he was always the tender loving father, and whatever he felt for those women did not touch us.
    â€œYou must know that the King cannot get children,” he began.
    I wrinkled my brows. I had often heard that this woman or that was going to have the King’s child.
    He noticed this and went on: “No child who could inherit the throne. The Queen, it seems, cannot produce one. Now this is of some significance to us. I am the King’s brother and, if he were to die . . . Oh, do not look alarmed . . . he is not going to die for a long time. He is hale and hearty. But there are those who say, yes, but suppose there was a riding accident . . . some mishap. Who knows in this life? And if your uncle died tomorrow . . . well, we must be prepared. I should be king then.”
    â€œI know that,” I said.
    â€œWell, I have two beautiful daughters and God knows I love them well, but the country looks for sons. People have this obsession for the masculine sex. That is a custom. They will take a woman, yes, but they would rather a man and they maintain that it is the duty of the heir to the throne to get sons if he possibly can.”
    â€œMy mother is dead now,” I said.
    He looked mournful. “Alas,” he murmured. “But that is why they expect me . . .” He paused and, gripping my hand firmly, he went on: “to marry again.”
    â€œTo marry? Whom would you marry?”
    â€œAh! That is the question. The matter is being raised. Believe me, my love, there are many who would like to give birth to the heir of England. So I must needs put the past behind me. I must take a wife. I must show them that I will do my best to give them an heir.”
    I could not help thinking: you will do that with ease. If Arabella Churchill, with the enticing legs, were your wife you could have several already. I did not say that. It would have wounded him deeply. He would not want me to know of such matters. But I kept thinking of my mother, with the pain in her face just before she died, and at that time he was Arabella Churchill’s lover.
    These thoughts persisted, and I remembered what I had heard about the days when they were young and in