She had known Buckingham well at Dover. Their interests there had been one in securing privileges from England for her French King. Both had been well rewarded too for their pains. There were no proofs, however, of this; and where his lordship stood to-day, and which cause he would espouse, she did not know. His eyes at Dover had fallen fondly upon her, but men’s eyes fall fondly upon many women, and she would not trust too much until she knew more.
“My chairmen have set me down at the wrong door-step,” she said, most sweetly. “My lord longs for his kiss. Au revoir!”
She bowed and turned to depart.
Buckingham was alert in an instant. He knew not when the opportunity might come again to deal so happily with Louis’s emissary and the place and time of meeting had its advantages.
“Prythee stay, Duchess. I left the merry hunters, returning from Hounslow Heath, all in Portsmouth’s interest,” he said. “Is this to be my thanks?”
She approached him earnestly. “My lord must explain. I am stupid in fitting English facts to English words.”
“Have you forgotten Dover?” he asked, intensely, but subdued in voice, “and my pledges sworn to?–the treaty at the Castle?–the Duchess of Orléans?–the Grand Monarch?”
“Hush!” exclaimed Portsmouth, clutching his arm and looking cautiously about.
“If my services to you there were known,” he continued, excitedly, “and to the great cause–the first step in making England pensioner of France and Holland the vassal of Louis–my head would pay the penalty. Can you not trust me still?”
“You are on strange ground to-night,” suggested Portsmouth, tossing her head impatiently to indicate the terrace, as she tried to fathom the real man.