“No,” she cried, and dictated, “‘Long live the King of Great Britain!’”
“Long live the King of Great Britain,—but not of America.”
“No! ‘Long live George the Third, King of Great Britain and the American colonies!’”
“Long live George the Third, King of Great Britain and—Ireland.”
“‘And of the American colonies.’ Say it! Say it all!”
“Long live Elizabeth Philipse, queen of beauty in the United States of America!” he answered.
“You don’t love me,” said she, and set her mind to finding some other means by which he might evince what she knew he would never demonstrate in the way she had demanded. And she resolved his humiliation should be all the greater for the delay. “You don’t love me.”
“I do. I swear, on my knees.”
“Then get on your knees!”
“I do!” He dropped on one knee.