Lord Halifax smiled rather sheepishly. He was a large, tolerant soul of sixty, repudiating all sentiment and subject to much. He had been called the “Trimmer”; but, then, no man of humour can ever be a man of convictions. Kind, witty, and cynical, he was yet so fond of Reason that he could make a fool of himself with her. He was even worked upon to do so in the present case.
“There is positively no precedent, sire,” he said. “To my certain knowledge the thing has never happened before.”
“Bot zhould it jost zo happen?” insisted his master.
“Ach!” said D’Auverquerque penetratingly.
“With deference, sire,” said his lordship, “is it not something premature to assume any hostile intent in the matter? The good lady——”
“Posh!” put in the King irritably. “Neither goot nor lady.”
“Zo it strike itself into mein head bom-bom,” said Schomberg.
“Dat dress vas a masgerade,” said William—“a vact, we zhould haf gonsidered, blain to the stupidest indelligence.”
“Certainly, certainly,” agreed Lord Halifax nervously.
“Vell, sir—vat den?”