he land of her exile.

To the "Merrie Monarch's" senses, sated with riper beauties and more
stolid charms, this unspoiled child of nature was as a wild rose
compared with exotic hot-house flowers. She was, he vowed, so "dainty,
so fresh, so fragrant," that none but the sourest of anchorites could
resist her--and he was no anchorite, as the world knew well. Almost at
sight of her he fell madly in love with her, and brought to bear on her
the battery of all his fascinations. Was ever maid placed, on the
threshold of life, in so dangerous a predicament? For the King, who was
her first lover, was also one of the most captivating men in England, a
past-master in the conquest of woman. But, in response to all his
advances, his honeyed words and oglings, the Stuart maid only laughed a
merry childish laugh. She would romp with him, as she had done with the
gallants at the French Court; to her he was only another "big
playfellow" to tease and play with. She knew nothing of love, and did
not wish to know more. He might kiss her--_vraiment_--why not? and that
Charles made abundant use of this concession, we know, for we are told
that "he would kiss her for half an hour at a time," caring little who
looked on.

And all her other Whitehall lovers--a legion of them, from the Duke of
Buckingham to the youngest page at Court, she treated in precisely the
same way. Was it innocence or artfulness, this assumption of childish
prudery? "She was a child," says Count Hamilton, "in all respects save
playing with dolls"--a child who refused to grow into a woman, and yet,
one shrewdly suspects that behind her childishness was a motive deeper
than is usually associated with so much simplicity.

She infected the whole Court with her exuberant youthfulness.
Basset-tables and boudoir intrigues were alike deserted to enjoy the new
era of nursery games which she inaugurated. Jaded gallants and sedate
Ladies of the Bedchamber mingled their shrieks of laughter in
blind-man's buff and hunt-the-slipper with the Stuart maid as Lady of
Misrule and arch-spirit of jollity. Pepys was shocked--or affected to
be--one day by seeing all the great and fair ones of the Court squatting
on the floor in the Whitehall gallery playing at "I love my love with an
A because he is Amorous"; "I hate him with a B because he is Boring,"
and so on; and no doubt rocking with glee at some sally of wit, for,
Pepys says, "some of them were very witty."

The little madcap even c