He stood for a second in the doorway, looking at the few gentlemen standing about the bare, large room; then his glance fell on Lord Dorset, who moved forward with his splendid air of grace.
"Is it the wrong moment to present to the notice of Your Majesty the young poet of whom I spoke yesterday?"
The King's large open eyes turned to the pale and agitated young man in question, who instantly went on his knees.
"A poet?" repeated William; the word to him conveyed a mild, but scarcely harmless madness. He thought the patronage of these people an irritating trait in his Lord Chamberlain. "Have we not already poets in our Court?"
Lord Dorset smiled.
"This poet, sir, is also a very good Protestant, and one who did much service in writing of satires——"
"We have always uses for a clever pen," said William, in whose own country the printing press was a powerful political engine. He turned gravely to the young man—
"What is your name?"
"Matthew Prior, Your Majesty."
"You wish a post about the Court, Mr. Prior?"