“THE QUEEN IS SO KIND.”
When he went to the managers’ box, Mr. Burke again took his place, but he held it a very short time, though he was in high good humour and civility. The involuntary coldness that results from internal disapprobation must, I am sure, have been seen, so thoroughly was it felt. I can only talk on this matter with Mr. Windham, who, knowing my opposite principles, expects to hear them, and gives them the fairest play by his good humour, candour, and politeness. But there is not one other manager with whom I could venture such openness.
That Mr. Windham takes it all in good part is certainly amongst the things he makes plainest, for again, after Mr. Burke’s return to the den, he came back.
“I am happy,” cried I, “to find you have not betrayed me.”
“Oh, no; I would not for the world.”
“I am quite satisfied you have kept my counsel; for Mr. Burke has been with me twice, and speaking with a good humour I could not else have expected from him. He comes to tell me that he never pities me for sitting here, whatever is going forward, as the sitting must be rest; and, indeed, it seems as if my coming hither was as much to rest my frame as to exercise my mind." “That’s a very good idea, but I do not like to realize it; I do not like to think of you and fatigue together. Is it so? Do you really want rest?”
“O, no.”
“O, I am well aware yours is not a mind to turn complainer but yet I fear, and not for your rest only, but your time. How is that; have you it, as you Ought, at your own disposal?”
“Why not quite,” cried I, laughing. Good heaven! what a question, in a situation like mine!
“Well, that is a thing I cannot bear to think of—that you should want time.”
“But the queen,” cried I, “is so kind.”
“That may be,” interrupted he, “and I am very glad of it but still, time—and to you!”
“Yet, after all, in the whole, I have a good deal, though always uncertain, for, if sometimes I have not two minutes when I expect two hours, at other times I have two hours where I expected only two minutes.”
“All that is nothing, if you have them not with certainty. Two hours are of no more value than two minutes, if you have them not at undoubted command.”
Again I answered, “The queen is so kind;” determined to sound that sentence well and audibly into republican ears.
“Well, well,” cried he, “that may be some compensation to you, but to us, to all others, what compensation is there for depriving you of time?”
“Mrs. Locke, here,” cried I, “always wishes time could be bought, because there are so many who have more than they know what to do with, that those who have less might be supplied very reasonably.”
“‘Tis an exceeding good idea,” cried he, “and I am sure, if it could be purchased, it ought to be given to YOU by act of parliament, as a public donation and tribute.” There was a fine flourish!