The Duke fell to his protestations again, and Carford still listened with an acquiescence that seemed strange in a suitor for the lady's hand. But now Barbara's modesty took alarm; the signal of confusion flew in her cheeks, and she looked round, distressed to see how many watched them. Monmouth cared not a jot. I made bold to slip across to Carford, and said to him in a low tone,
"My lord, his Grace makes Mistress Barbara too much marked. Can't you contrive to interrupt him?"
He stared at me with a smile of wonder. But something in my look banished his smile and set a frown in its place.
"Must I have more lessons in manners from you, sir?" he asked. "And do you include a discourse on the interrupting of princes?"
"Princes?" said I.
"The Duke of Monmouth is——"
"The King's son, my lord," I interposed, and, carrying my hat in my hand, I walked up to Barbara and the Duke. She looked at me as I came, but not now mockingly; there was rather an appeal in her eyes.
"Your Grace will not let me lose my audience with the King?" said I.
He started, looked at me, frowned, looked at Barbara, frowned deeper still. I remained quiet, in an attitude of great deference. Puzzled to know whether I had spoken in sheer simplicity and ignorance, or with a meaning which seemed too bold to believe in, he broke into a doubtful laugh. In an instant Barbara drew away with a curtsey. He did not pursue her, but caught my arm, and looked hard and straight in my face. I am happily somewhat wooden of feature, and a man could not make me colour now, although a woman could. He took nothing by his examination.
"You interrupted me," he said.