The King, then, having finished his discourse with some other party, repeated the same question to Lady Louisa; and, having received the same answer, immediately addressed himself to the Memorialist, to ask whether she were come to Windsor to make any stay?
“No, Sir; not now.”
“I was sure,” cried the Queen, “she was not come to stay, by seeing her father, who has so little time.”
“And when shall you come again,” said the King, “to Windsor?”
“Very soon—I hope, Sir!”
“And—and—and—” added he, half-laughing, and hesitating significantly, while he flourished his hand and fingers as if wielding a pen; “pray—how goes on—the Muse?”
To this she only answered by laughing also; but he would not be so evaded, and repeated the interrogatory. She then replied, “Not at all, Sir!”
“No?—but why?—why not?”
“I am—afraid, Sir!” she stammered.
“And why?” repeated he, surprised: “Of what are you afraid?—of what?—”