She had already, with that self-command which forms so necessary a part of a Sovereign's accomplishments, suppressed every appearance of agitation, and seemed as if she desired to banish all traces of her burst of passion from the recollection of those who had witnessed it.

"My Lord of Hunsdon says well," she observed, "he is indeed but a rough nurse for so tender a babe." "My Lord of Hunsdon," said the Dean of St.Asaph--"I speak it not in defamation of his more noble qualities--hath a broad license in speech, and garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with the cruel and superstitious oaths which savour both of profaneness and of old Papistrie." "It is the fault of his blood, Mr.Dean," said the Queen, turning sharply round upon the reverend dignitary as she spoke; "and you may blame mine for the same distemperature.

The Boleyns were ever a hot and plain-spoken race, more hasty to speak their mind than careful to choose their expressions.

And by my word--I hope there is no sin in that affirmation--I question if it were much cooled by mixing with that of Tudor." As she made this last observation she smiled graciously, and stole her eyes almost insensibly round to seek those of the Earl of Leicester, to whom she now began to think she had spoken with hasty harshness upon the unfounded suspicion of a moment.
The Queen's eye found the Earl in no mood to accept the implied offer of conciliation.

His own looks had followed, with late and rueful repentance, the faded form which Hunsdon had just borne from the presence.