“That is an invitation I’d not refuse even from an enemy.”
His grace tinkled a little silver bell. The usher appeared.
“Who waits in the anteroom?”
Came from the usher a string of names and titles, all of them distinguished, some imposing.
“Say to them with my regrets that I can receive none before I dine. Bid those whose business presses to seek me again this afternoon.”
As the usher removed himself, Holles lay back in his chair and laughed. The Duke frowned inquiry, almost anxiously.
“I am thinking of how they stared upon me, and how they’ll stare next time we meet. Forgive me that I laugh at trifles. It is almost the only luxury I am still able to afford.”
Albemarle nodded gloomily. If he possessed a sense of humour, he very rarely betrayed the fact, which is possibly why Mr. Pepys, who loved a laugh, has written him down a heavy man.
“Tell me now,” he invited, “what is the reason of your coming home?”
“The war. Could I continue in Dutch service, even if the Dutch had made it possible, which they did not? For the last three months it has been impossible for an Englishman to show his face in the streets of The Hague without being subjected to insult. If he were so rash as to resent and punish it, he placed himself at the mercy of the authorities, which were never reluctant to make an example of him. That is one reason. The other is that England is in danger, that she needs the sword of her every son, and in such a pass should be ready to afford me employment. You need officers, I learn—experienced officers....”