“May I humbly inquire the penalty,” said Lord Dalgarno, “in case I should unhappily find compliance with your Majesty's demands impossible?”
“Banishment frae our Court, my lord,” said the king; “frae our Court and our countenance.”
“Unhappy exile that I may be!” said Lord Dalgarno, in a tone of subdued irony—“I will at least carry your Majesty's picture with me, for I shall never see such another king.”
“And banishment, my lord,” said the Prince, sternly, “from these our dominions.”
“That must be by form of law, please your Royal Highness,” said Dalgarno, with an affectation of deep respect; “and I have not heard that there is a statute, compelling us, under such penalty, to marry every woman we may play the fool with. Perhaps his Grace of Buckingham can tell me?”
“You are a villain, Dalgarno,” said the haughty and vehement favourite.
“Fie, my lord, fie!—to a prisoner, and in presence of your royal and paternal gossip!” said Lord Dalgarno. “But I will cut this deliberation short. I have looked over this schedule of the goods and effects of Erminia Pauletti, daughter of the late noble—yes, he is called the noble, or I read wrong, Giovanni Pauletti, of the Houee of Sansovino, in Genoa, and of the no less noble Lady Maud Olifaunt, of the House of Glenvarloch—Well, I declare that I was pre-contracted in Spain to this noble lady, and there has passed betwixt us some certain proelibatio matrimonii; and now, what more does this grave assembly require of me?”
“That you should repair the gross and infamous wrong you have done the lady, by marrying her within this hour,” said the Prince.
“O, may it please your Royal Highness,” answered Dalgarno, “I have a trifling relationship with an old Earl, who calls himself my father, who may claim some vote in the matter. Alas! every son is not blessed with an obedient parent!” He hazarded a slight glance towards the throne, to give meaning to his last words.
“We have spoken ourselves with Lord Huntinglen,” said the king, “and are authorised to consent in his name.”