"Friend! do you know what you ask of me? To marry—that is to say to give up all that makes life poetic, beautiful, amusing, the love which lasts a day, the delights which live one hour, woman in her most alluring aspect, the unattainable; and in exchange what do you offer me—the smaller half of a crown."
"The gratitude of a nation . . ." protested Everingham.
"Ah! A woman, however fickle she may be, is more constant than a nation . . . As for gratitude? . . . nay, my lord . . . let us not speak of the gratitude of nations."
"This is not your last word, friend," pleaded Lord Everingham earnestly.
They had reached the foot of the stairs, and were once more under the gateway of the clock tower, where Lady Ursula Glynde had caught sight of them from the great bay-window opposite.
It was a glorious afternoon. October, always lovely in England, was more beautiful and mellow this year than it had ever been. Wessex paused a moment, with his slender hand placed affectionately on his friend's shoulder. He looked round him—at the great windows of the hall, the vast enclosure of the Base Court beyond, the distant tower of the chapel visible above the fantastic roofs and gables of Henry VIII's chambers, the massive, imposing grandeur of the great pile which had seen so many tragedies, witnessed so many sorrows, so many downfalls, such treachery and such horrible deaths. A shudder seemed to go through his powerful frame, a look of resolution, of pride, and of absolute disdain crept into his lazy, deep-set eyes. Then he said quietly—
"That is my last word, friend. I'll never be made a puppet on which to hang the cloak of political factions and intrigues. My life belongs to my country, but neither my liberty nor my self-respect. If my friendship will help to influence the Queen into refusing to wed the King of Spain I'll continue to exert it to the best of my ability, but I'll not become Her Majesty's lapdog, nor the tool of my friends."
Then once more the hardness and determination vanished from his face; the nonchalance and careless idleness of the grand seigneur was alone visible now.
With easy familiarity he linked his arm through that of Everingham.
"Shall we rejoin Her Majesty on the terrace?" he said lightly. "She will have finished her orisons, and will be awaiting us. Come, Harry!"