But how I have anticipated my history! I must return, to tell you
that when I was just sixteen I was told that I was to go to my first
ball at Whitehall. My hair was curled over my forehead, and I was
dressed in white satin, with the famous pearls of Ribaumont round my
neck, though of course they were not to be mine eventually.
I knew the palace well, having often had the honour of playing with
the Lady Mary, who was some years younger than I, so that I was much
less alarmed than many young gentlewomen there making their first
appearance. But, as my dear brother Eustace led me into the outer
hall, close behind my father and mother, I heard a strange whistle,
and, looking up, I saw over the balustrade of the gallery a droll
monkey face looking out of a mass of black curls, and making
significant grimaces at me.
I knew well enough that it was no other than the Prince of Wales. He
was terribly ugly and fond of teasing, but in a good-natured way,
always leaving off when he saw he was giving real pain, and I liked
him much better than his brother, the Duke of York, who was proud and
sullen. Yet one could always trust the Duke, and that could not be
said for the Prince.
By the time we had slowly advanced up the grand staircase into the
banqueting-hall, and had made our reverences to the king and queen--
ah, how stately and beautiful they looked together!--the Prince had
stepped in some other way, and stood beside me.
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