“Your Grace must forgive me, but I cannot consent.”
There was a dead silence; when Anthony looked up, she was staring at him with the frankest astonishment.
“Did you think, Mr. Norris, you could be at Court and say mass too whenever you wished?” Her voice rang harsh and shrill; her anger was rising.
“I was not sure what your Grace intended for me.”
“The fellow is mad,” she said, still staring at him. “Oh! take care, take care!”
“Your Grace knows I intend no insolence.”
“You mean to say, Mr. Norris, that you will not take a pardon and a post at Court on those terms?”
Anthony bowed; he could not trust himself to speak, so bitter was the reaction.
“But, see man, you fool; if you die as a traitor you will never say mass again either.”
“But that will not be with my consent, your Grace.”