ld of the
identity of Philippa Chaucer, _domicella camera_, with Philippa Pycard,
_domicella_, could scarcely have arisen; nor should we be told that
Chaucer's marriage did not occur until 1369, or later, when we find
Philippa in office as Lady of the Bedchamber in 1366.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DAME MAISENTA DOES NOT SEE IT.

"With a little hoard of maxims, preaching down a daughter's
heart."--_Tennyson_.

Earl Edmund had not been callous to the white, woeful face under one of
the bridal wreaths. He set himself to think how most pleasantly to
divert the thoughts of Clarice; and the result of his meditations was a
request to Father Miles that he would induce the Countess to invite the
parents of Clarice on a visit. The Countess always obeyed Father Miles,
though had she known whence the suggestion came, she might have been
less docile. A letter, tied up with red silk, and sealed with the
Countess's seal, was despatched by a messenger to Dame La Theyn, whom it
put into no small flutter of nervous excitement.

A journey to London was a tremendous idea to that worthy woman, though
she lived but forty miles from the metropolis. She had never been there
in her life. Sir Gilbert had once visited it, and had dilated on the
size, splendour, and attractions of the place, till it stood, in the
Dame's eyes, next to going to Heaven. It may, indeed, be doubted if she
would not have found herself a good deal more at home in the former
place than the latter.

Three sumpter-mules were laden with the richest garments and ornaments
in the wardrobes of knight and dame. Two armed servants were on one
horse, Sir Gilbert and his wife on another; and thus provided, late in
February, they drew bridle at the gate of Whitehall Palace. Clarice had
not been told of their coming by the Countess, because she was not
sufficiently interested; by the Earl, because he wished it to be a
pleasant surprise. She was called out into the ante-chamber one
afternoon, and, to her complete astonishment, found herself in the
presence of her parents.

The greeting was tolerably warm.

"Why, child, what hast done to thy cheeks?" demanded Sir Gilbert, when
he had kissed his palefaced daughter. "'Tis all the smoke--that's what
it is!"

"Nay; be sure 'tis the late hours," responded the Dame. "I'll warrant
you they go not to bed here afore seven o' the clock. Eh, Clarice?"

"Not before eight, Dame," answered Clarice, with a smile.

"Eight!" cr