"But," he said after a while, with charming bonhomie, "but suppose that instead of gloating in the triumph which you, my lord, so readily prophesy—suppose that I were to ask you to let me help you—you and your friends—in parting the volatile Duke from his latest flame? . . . Would you accept my help?"
"Your Eminence . . . I . . ." murmured Everingham, somewhat at a loss what to say.
"You would wish to consult with your friends, eh?" continued the Cardinal placidly. "Lord Derby, Lord Bath, the Earl of Oxford—nay, the whole string of patriotic Englishmen who desire to see one of their own kind on the English throne, and naturally look upon me as a monster of artifice and vice."
"Your Eminence . . ." protested Everingham.
"Yet what are we but political antagonists, who can honour one another in private, whilst rending one another to pieces on the arena of public life? Do you not agree with me, my lord?"
"Certainly."
"Then why should you disdain my help, now that—momentarily—we have the same object in view?"
"I am hors de cause, Your Eminence, as I have only the next few hours at my disposal. After that I go to Scotland."
"Much may be done in a few hours, my lord, with an ounce of luck and a grain of tact."
"But I do not understand why Your Eminence should be at one with me and my friends over this."