She saw Lady Jane's tender smile, and her yet searching looks.
Because she felt conscious of guilt, at least of guilty thoughts, she was on her guard, and remembered John Heywood's warning.
"She is observing me," she said to herself; "she seems affectionate; so she is brooding over some wicked plot." "Ah, it is well you have come, Jane," said she aloud.

"You can help me; for, to tell you the truth, I am in great perplexity.

I am in want of a rhyme, and I am thinking in vain how I shall find it." "Ah, are you composing poetry, queen ?" "Why, Jane, does that surprise you?
Shall I, the queen, be able, then, to bear off no prize?
I would give my precious jewels, if I could succeed in composing a poem to which the king was obliged to award the prize.

But I am wanting in a musical ear; I cannot find the rhyme, and so shall be obliged at last to give up the idea of winning laurels also.
How the king would enjoy it, though! For, to confess the truth to you, I believe he is a little afraid that Henry Howard will bear off the prize, and he would be very thankful to me if I could contest it with him.

You well know the king has no love for the Howards." "And you, queen ?" asked Jane; and she turned so pale, that the queen herself noticed it.
"You are unwell, Jane," said she, sympathizingly.