"James," said the King, "our friend Mr Dale desires to wed Mistress Barbara Quinton."
Monmouth started violently and turned red.
"His admiration for that lady," continued the King, "has been shared by such high and honourable persons that I cannot doubt it to be well founded. Shall he not then be her husband?"
Monmouth's eyes were fixed on me; I met his glance with an easy smile. Again I felt that I, who had worsted M. de Perrencourt, need not fear the Duke of Monmouth.
"If there be any man," observed Rochester, "who would love a lady who is not a wife, and yet is fit to be his wife, let him take her, in Heaven's name! For he might voyage as far in search of another like her as M. de Fontelles must in his search for a Perfect King."
"Shall he not have her, James?" asked the King of his son.
Monmouth understood that the game was lost.
"Ay, Sir, let him have her," he answered, mustering a smile. "And I hope soon to see your Court graced by her presence."
Well, at that, I, most inadvertently and by an error in demeanour which I now deplore sincerely, burst into a short sharp laugh. The King turned to me with raised eye-brows.
"Pray let us hear the jest, Mr Dale," said he.