“Maria,” she said impulsively. “Do you ever think how different your life is now? You were so quiet and unfashionable before you were a widow. I remember once your saying that you were not interested in the mode and preferred to be clothed only in the quietest and most subdued colours.”

“I remember. Strange how quickly and easily one changes without really realising that one does so. But the Prince likes me to wear blue, green or white, all of which, he declares, show off my fair hair.”

“Golden hair,” Gretna corrected her. “I have never seen anyone else with hair that really is like sunshine. It’s so beautiful, Maria. You are wise to keep it always unpowdered.”

“At least in that I set my own fashion,” Maria smiled a little proudly.

“For others too. I heard Lady Southampton say the other night that it was impossible not to admire your modesty and the dignity that so many ladies who attend Carlton House try to emulate. She did not know I was listening, but I felt proud that she should speak of you in such a warm manner.”

“Did she really say that?” Maria asked, flushing a little. “It is hard always to be dignified for the Prince loves to be gay and even to indulge in practical jokes. And while I do not wish to seem a prig, I want above all things to remain a lady.”

“And that is exactly what you are, Maria.”

“I am so glad you have told me of this” Maria cried. “For a long time I have felt that my actions count for nothing and that in trying to set a standard I have been laughed at and scorned. Now, quite unexpectedly, you give me praise when I least expect it. And hope!”

“No one could help – admiring you,” Gretna said impulsively.

Maria smiled faintly and sighed,

“If that could only be true. But, alas, there are all too many people who not only disapprove but say the most slanderous and wicked things about me. Sometimes, Gretna, when I hear what is said or see the cartoons, I wish that the Prince and I had never met.”

Then, even as she spoke, she gave a little cry.

“No, that is untrue, that is a bad and wicked thing to say, because it denies what is more to me than life itself, my love for him and his love for me.”

She spoke passionately and Gretna was transfixed by the intensity of her feelings.

“Oh, Maria,” she whispered. “What will be the end of it all?”

It was as if her question was one that Maria had asked herself all too often. She stared at Gretna for a moment with blind eyes and then rose and walked towards the fireplace.

For a moment she stood looking at her own reflection. The mirror portrayed faithfully the beauty of her golden hair, her oval face and lovely vivacious eyes.

Then she said very quietly,