The dinner was an unqualified success. The fare was sumptuous. The great Simpson had surpassed himself and his pasties shaped like doctors in their robes were for long a theme of conversation. The great library was kept very cool; the company assembled in it comprised the gayest and the most learned of the eminent people of the day and even the Archbishop, on the alert as usual to see that all ran smoothly, felt com pletely satisfied. At one end of the long room the King, the Queen and the Elector, sat apart; Prince Rupert was at one of the long tables amongst the other guests. The King was talking with considerable animation, his fine face aglow with pleasure. He had spent a day after his own heart in the home of culture and in the very midst of that religious movement which meant so much to him. Queen Mary, as she was called in England in her own day, brown-haired and black-browed, with sparkling eyes and a pretty colour in her cheeks, presented a charming picture, as she sat by his side. She had more charm than beauty, but there was something very taking in the long oval of her face and in the quick vivacious gestures of her small slim hands. Seated at the long tables were men and women in satin garments and lace ruffles.
