“So you are signalled out for her slights. What could you wish more? I’d rather be the one scorned by a woman than the fifty favoured. ’Tis to stand alone in her estimation, and be thought of always for yourself. She’s jealous, take my word. These coquetries you speak of are but retorts on you in kind. Be thankful that she thinks you worth them. It works, Phil—believe me, it works.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Come, visit us this night, and make sureness surer.”
Hamilton feigned to reflect.
“To-night? Why, the truth is——”
Chesterfield, breaking into a chuckle, nudged him roguishly.
“Hey-hey! I see: an assignation. Well, another night.”
“Nay; to prove you’re wrong, I’ll come.”
It so happened that, passing along a corridor that afternoon, Hamilton encountered the Duke of York, who took his arm and held him in friendly talk as he paced the matting with him up and down. His Royal Highness was in a suit of plain black, which became his sombre visage very well, and wore no ornament but the “George” suspended from his neck by a blue ribbon.