“One more request,” she said, with modest mien, “a very little one, Sire.”
The King laughed buoyantly.
“Nay, an I stay here,” he said, “thy beauty will win my kingdom! What is thy little wish, sweet sovereign?”
“No more Parliaments in England, Sire,” she said, softly.
“What, woman!” he exclaimed, rising, half-aghast, half-humorous, at the suggestion; for he too had an opinion of Parliament.
“To cross the sway of thy great royal state-craft,” she continued, quickly following up the advantage which her woman’s wit taught her she had gained. “The people’s sufferings from taxation spring from Parliament only, Sire.”
“’Tis true,” agreed Charles, decisively.
Portsmouth half embraced him.
“For the people’s good, Sire,” she urged, “for my sweetest kiss.”
“You are mad,” said Charles, yet three-fourths convinced; “my people–”