Yet Thorkel's manner was unwontedly genial when at last he broached his
errand. "You lack the eagerness that is to be expected, lady," he said as he
gave his mouth a last polish with the delicate napkin. "How comes it that you
have not guessed I bring you a message from the King?"
She answered doubtfully that the King had not behaved to her so that his
messages were apt to be anticipated with much pleasure.
"But it has never occurred that I brought you this kind of news before," he
tempted her. "Will it not interest you to hear that at last the Palace is
ready for a Queen?"
That startled her a little out of her wariness, crying the last two words
after him with an eagerness of inflection that was as pathetic as though her
heart were concerned.
His lips gave out a flash as he nodded. "A Queen. Canute is going to give the
Angles a 'gift of the elves.'"
For an instant, she was betrayed into believing him, and bent forward, her
flushing face transfigured with delight. She was starting to speak when the
Etheling rose abruptly from his seat.
"Lord Thorkel," he said angrily, "this cat-play would bring you little thanks
from your King, nor will I longer endure it. I pray you to explain without
delay that the name of 'Elfgiva' is borne also by Emma of Normandy."
Then the old man snarled as a wolf does whose bone has been seized.
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