"True."
"But this! It is the most absurd, the most ridiculous, the most fantastical story! How could I go out of town for twenty-four hours, and the fact not be known to half London? Let Sir John name the day."
"He has," the other Duke answered. "He lays it on the tenth of June."
"Well?"
"There was a Land Bank meeting of the Council on that day. But your Grace did not attend it."
"No? No, I remember I did not. It was the day my mother was taken ill. She sent for me, and I lay at her house that night and the next."
His Grace of Devonshire coughed. "That is unfortunate," he said, and leaned forward to bow to the Bishop of London, whose chariot had just entered the Square.
"Why?" said my lord, ready to take offence at anything.
"Because, though I do not doubt your word, the world will require witnesses. And Lady Shrewsbury's household is suspect. Her Jacobite leanings are known, and her people's evidence would go for little. That that should be the day--but there, there, your Grace must take courage," the Duke continued kindly. "All that the party can do will be done. Within the week Lord Portland will be here bringing his Majesty's commands, and we shall then know what he proposes to do about it. If I know the King, and I think I do----"