Henry could have crushed him--this proud, arrogant earl, who was a free man, whilst his king was nothing but a prisoner to his own flesh, a slave of his unwieldy body.
"I will exterminate it--this proud, arrogant race of Howards!" muttered the king, as he turned with a friendly smile to the Earl of Surrey.
"You have promised us some of your poems, cousin!" said he.

"So let us now enjoy them; for you see, indeed, how impatiently all the beautiful women look on England's noblest and greatest poet, and how very angry with me they would be if I still longer withhold this enjoyment from them! Even my fair queen is full of longing after your songs, so rich in fancy; for you well know, Howard, she loves poetry, and, above all things, yours." Catharine had scarcely heard what the king said.

Her looks had encountered Seymour's, and their eyes were fixed on each other's.

But she had then cast down to the floor her eyes, still completely filled with the sight of her lover, in order to think of him, since she no longer dared gaze at him.
When the king called her name, she started up and looked at him inquiringly.

She had not heard what he had said to her.
"Not even for a moment does she look toward me!" said Henry Howard to himself.