Portland made a step forward; then he saw, behind the King, the ardent, youthful face of my Lord Albemarle, and he fell back.
William slowly descended the steps. The lackeys opened the coach door, and the gentleman came round.
The King looked to Portland, who still stood apart.
"Will you accompany me, my lord?" he said gently.
The seat in his coach was an honour to which his brother-in-law, Prince George, had aspired in vain. Of late Portland had frequently refused it, and in terms so curt as to excite the horror of those who heard. Now the King was making a last appeal—his brilliant eyes, his moved voice were reminding William Bentinck of his letter and of the long friendship which the 'G' that signed it was a symbol of.
There fell the slightest pause; then Portland answered with a harshness that would have been discourteous to an equal—
"I pray you excuse me. I keep my own company to-day."
At this, which was little less than a public insult, the King flushed a dark red, and those about him knew not where to look.
"My Lord Sunderland," commanded William, "you will accompany us."
He entered the coach, the Lord Chamberlain followed, and Portland, very white but unshaken, mounted his own vehicle.