“Thou art sharp, Jerningham,” said the Duke—“in one sense I have, and I may again. So now, that pearl-coloured will do with the ribbon and George. Get away with thee.—And now that he is gone, Master Christian, may I once more crave your pleasure?”
“My Lord Duke,” said Christian, “you are a worshipper of difficulties in state affairs, as in love matters.”
“I trust you have been no eavesdropper, Master Christian,” replied the Duke; “it scarce argues the respect due to me, or to my roof.”
“I know not what you mean, my lord,” replied Christian.
“Nay, I care not if the whole world heard what I said but now to Jerningham. But to the matter,” replied the Duke of Buckingham.
“Your Grace is so much occupied with conquests over the fair and over the witty, that you have perhaps forgotten what a stake you have in the little Island of Man.”
“Not a whit, Master Christian. I remember well enough that my roundheaded father-in-law, Fairfax, had the island from the Long Parliament; and was ass enough to quit hold of it at the Restoration, when, if he had closed his clutches, and held fast, like a true bird of prey, as he should have done, he might have kept it for him and his. It had been a rare thing to have had a little kingdom—made laws of my own—had my Chamberlain with his white staff—I would have taught Jerningham, in half a day, to look as wise, walk as stiffly, and speak as silly, as Harry Bennet.”
“You might have done this, and more, if it had pleased your Grace.”
“Ay, and if it had pleased my Grace, thou, Ned Christian, shouldst have been the Jack Ketch of my dominions.”
“I your Jack Ketch, my lord?” said Christian, more in a tone of surprise than of displeasure.