“Why, of course! I was so glad to see Greville I had all but forgot poor Romney. Only two hours, and then when I come back we dress for the Duke of Queensberry’s reception. The Prince of Wales will be there.”
She challenged Greville, with her bright bold smile, to injure her! Fear to leave him alone with Sir William? Not she! and so presently tripped out of the room in her big hat all plumes and the white silk cloak about her shoulders. Greville attended her to the carriage, and stood bareheaded, reminiscent of many past hackney coaches on the same errand, as it bore her away to Romney’s studio. She had forgotten to ask concerning little Emma, now a fine buxom girl of nine, whose last school bill lay receipted in his pocket. He turned and went slowly up the stair, reflecting.
“And what do you think of her?” was the first eager question. It seemed that Hamilton could think of nothing else. He looked even older now she was gone; it was as when the sun dies off a landscape.
“Most beautiful,” Greville answered with his carefully regulated enthusiasm. “Immensely, unspeakably improved.”
“Worth a little sacrifice, eh?”
“Certainly. If worth a great one no one but yourself can tell. I suppose you had great difficulties with the King about his consent?”
“On the whole, not so bad as I expected. I won’t hide from you, who have all my confidence, that he was extremely reluctant. I could see the Queen had primed him. He leaned chiefly on difficulties with the Neapolitan Court and I could honestly reassure him there. Indeed, I was able to show him a letter that Marie Caroline wrote me before leaving, expressing her warm interest and kindness for Emma. It went a long way. He agreed finally, and offered the privy councillorship.”
Greville reflected.
“A great honour. Did you see the Queen?”
“No. But I have no doubt that Emma will win her way when we are married. No one can resist her. I may say her life is one triumphal progress.”