“‘And when,’ asked the King, ‘do you return again to Windsor?’
“‘Very soon, I hope, sir.’
“‘And—and—and,’ cried he, half laughing and hesitating significantly, ‘pray, how goes on the Muse?’
“At first I only laughed too; but he repeated the inquiry, and then I answered:
“‘Not at all, sir.’
“‘No? But why?—why not?’
“‘I—I—I am afraid, sir,’ stammered I.
“‘And why?’ repeated he;—‘of what?’
“I spoke something—I hardly know what myself—so indistinctly that he could not hear me, though he had put his head quite under my hat from the beginning of the little conference; and after another such question or two, and no greater satisfaction in the answer, he smiled very good-humouredly, and walked on, his Queen by his side.
“We stayed some time longer on the Terrace, and my poor father occasionally joined me; but he looked so conscious and depressed that it pained me to see him. He was not spoken to, though he had a bow every time the King passed him, and a curtsey from the Queen. But it hurt him, and he thought it a very bad prognostic; and all there was at all to build upon was the graciousness shown to me.” Much dejected, the Doctor posted back to town with his daughter; and, on reaching home, heard that the place he sought had been disposed of by the Lord Chamberlain, in whose gift it was.