“He was, girl, he was!” exclaimed Sir Henry; “but no more on’t, I charge ye—no more on’t—enough; let his son but possess his virtues, with better advisers, and better fortunes, and he will be all that England, in her warmest wishes, could desire.”
There was a pause after this; for Alice felt as if she had spoken too frankly and too zealously for her sex and youth. Sir Henry was occupied in melancholy recollections on the fate of his late sovereign, while Kerneguy and his supposed patron felt embarrassed, perhaps from a consciousness that the real Charles fell far short of his ideal character, as designed in such glowing colours. In some cases, exaggerated or unappropriate praise becomes the most severe satire.
But such reflections were not of a nature to be long willingly cherished by the person to whom they might have been of great advantage. He assumed a tone of raillery, which is, perhaps, the readiest mode of escaping from the feelings of self-reproof. “Every cavalier,” he said, “should bend his knee to thank Mistress Alice Lee for having made such a flattering portrait of the King their master, by laying under contribution for his benefit the virtues of all his ancestors; only there was one point he would not have expected a female painter to have passed over in silence. When she made him, in right of his grandfather and father, a muster of royal and individual excellences, why could she not have endowed him at the same time with his mother’s personal charms? Why should not the son of Henrietta Maria, the finest woman of her day, add the recommendations of a handsome face and figure to his internal qualities? He had the same hereditary title to good looks as to mental qualifications; and the picture, with such an addition, would be perfect in its way—and God send it might be a resemblance.”
“I understand you, Master Kerneguy,” said Alice; “but I am no fairy, to bestow, as those do in the nursery tales, gifts which Providence has denied. I am woman enough to have made enquiries on the subject, and I know the general report is, that the King, to have been the son of such handsome parents, is unusually hard-favoured.”
“Good God, sister!” said Albert, starting impatiently from his seat. “Why, you yourself told me so,” said Alice, surprised at the emotion he testified; “and you said”—
“This is intolerable,” muttered Albert; “I must out to speak with Joceline without delay—Louis,” (with an imploring look to Kerneguy,) “you will surely come with me?”
“I would with all my heart,” said Kerneguy, smiling maliciously; “but you see how I suffer still from lameness.—Nay, nay, Albert,” he whispered, resisting young Lee’s attempt to prevail on him to leave the room, “can you suppose I am fool enough to be hurt by this?—on the contrary, I have a desire of profiting by it.”
“May God grant it!” said Lee to himself, as he left the room—“it will be the first lecture you ever profited by; and the devil confound the plots and plotters who made me bring you to this place!” So saying, he carried his discontent forth into the Park.