Bulstrode looked at it attentively with an inscrutable illumination on his face.
"Yes, it is good of the King, very good indeed," he exclaimed with much animation. It was strikingly so, he could with truth say it.
Gresthaven had proved himself to be the friend of the King par excellence—the King seemed to have many friends—-and the poor little woman opposite—with her fetching bow of tulle and her mad confidence in a stranger—her madder confidence in Lord Almouth Gresthaven—where were her friends? Jimmy leaned to her, and Mrs. Falconer could have told that it was his voice of goodness that spoke, the voice "that Jimmy seemed able to call at will from some wonderfully dear part of his nature: it was for people in trouble, for people he was determined to help in spite of themselves."
"Your Majesty has done me great honor," Bulstrode said. "You have said I was the King's friend, I should like instead to be your friend. Women need friends ... even queens. Would it be too vast a presumption if I should from henceforth feel myself to be...." He waited and dared—"Carmen-Magda's friend?"
His innocent lèse-majesté, coupled with the tone he used, reached the woman in her—-not to speak of his personal charm.
"Didn't I imply friendship when I chose you for this mission?" she said.
He winced. "Of course—but I mean from now on——"
She nodded sweetly. "Cela va sans dire, Gresthaven."
"Don't call me so," he interrupted, "say friend, to please me."
She laughed.