Rolfe, piqued at his own unimportance at these festive occasions, wrote a political and economic treatise on the colony. Pocahontas objected to any plans for an early return home.
The Lady Rebecca liked London, even though the foggy climate was giving her a hacking cough that worried Rolfe, who wanted her to get on to the country to meet his family. Neither rolling wagons and carriages on the cobblestone street, nor roistering revellers downstairs beneath their lodgings disturbed her, she said.
Naïve, ordinary Indians did not admit themselves so pleased as she was. John Smith ran into Uttamatomakkin in London.
"Powhatan did bid me to find you out to show me your God, the King, Queen, and Prince, you so much told us of."
"God is not to be seen by human eye. The King you have seen. And the rest you shall see when you choose."
The Indian shook his head. "Nay, not yet have I seen the King."
"You did see him, just yesterday," insisted Smith.
"He did not look as much like a king as our Powhatan. And he didn't give me a present. You gave Powhatan a white dog, which Powhatan fed as himself; but your king gave me nothing, and I am better than your white dog." He had long since given up counting white men since he was quickly weary of that task.
Smith could not do anything about that, but he could and did go calling on the Rolfes, having no idea that Pocahontas considered him long under the sod. He knew that now as the pet of society in London, she must have changed, but he had not known how much, and he was impressed with her formal appearance when he went to Brentford to see her.
"The Lady Rebecca!" he greeted her with a flourishing bow.