"The people are so stubborn——"
"They complain but they bow, sire; and soon they will not even complain."
"Then M. Barillon mentioned——" The King paused abruptly.
"What, sire?"
"My nephew, William."
As he spoke James glanced quickly at Sunderland, who returned the gaze calmly and mildly.
"My nephew, William—what is he plotting?"
"Plotting, Your Majesty?"
"He hath never been friendly to me," broke out the King fiercely. "Why did he refuse his consent to the Indulgence?—he who hath always stood for toleration?"
"As the head of the Protestant interest in Europe he could do no less, sire."