Lady Orkney did not look at Portland, but rather absently down the room.
"He must be fairly weary of it all," she replied. "Do you think," she added rather sharply, "he hath recovered from the death of the Queen?"
"No, madam, nor will he ever," said my lord sternly.
"How you dislike me!" cried Lady Orkney softly. "And I would have been a good friend to you if you would have let me—believe me"—she looked at him full now—"I would never do an ill turn to one of the King's friends."
"What is this, madam?" he asked haughtily.
"Oh, you understand," she answered. "You know that M. van Keppel is a friend of mine, and you have tried to do him ill offices—I tell you that you have no cause—Joost van Keppel will harm nobody. Let him be."
Portland was silent in sheer disdain. Elizabeth Villiers fixed him with her queer eyes; her pronounced cast was very noticeable.
"You should not dislike me," she said, "because I sometimes help the King—Joost van Keppel will help him too, even in such follies as courtesy and an obliging temper—a sweet reverence might mean much to a broken man—consider that, my lord."
He answered brusquely.
"I consider that Joost van Keppel is a worthless young rake-hell, and that those who push him into His Majesty's favour can have only mean motives."