Marjorie Bowen

“ Jerome flushed.
"I have had no hand in those," he answered. "I find my cause too good an one to need lies to support it. I deny that you are King of England, your Highness,—I am not blind to your qualities."
"Yet, Mr. Caryl, you speak to me of being revenge'—which is a thing for men like Milor' Mordaunt. This is not, Mon Dieu, the firs' plot I 'ave discover' since I was child. I 'ave learn' to take insult and betrayal." ”

“ And I will spare them my forgiveness."
"And we pay for your clemency, sir," replied Jerome Caryl bitterly. "We humbler plotters."
William turned and looked at him. They were standing very near each other. The King took his hat off and flung it down on the chair beside him.
"Mr. Caryl," he said, "you are gentilhomme—cannot you see that I will not do something? I will not 'unt down these bourgeois—what are they? I will not know their name'."
He held the papers out to the Jacobite.
"I am tire' of your plot," he finished. ”

“ How can you tell who is in this conspiracy; how judge of the loyalty of the men about you? Any one of them may be in Berwick's pay to murder your Majesty!"
William sat up and leaned across the table.
"Sir John," he said, "I am surprise' that a man of your—esprit bring me these child tale'—I do not think I shall be murder', but I will take the risk of it—and now we will speak of Scotlan'."
His cold voice was a dismissal of the subject.
The Master of Stair caught his breath in an effort at self-control; he had served the King at infinite labor and some risk ”

“ Sir John 'ave not a 'ead for plot—but you—you 'ave behave'—like the fools."
With the same perfect composure and unmoved face, he opened the case and took out the papers. Jerome noticed that the seals were not yet broken.
"We are prepared to pay for being fools, your Highness," he said coldly.
"It is to be hope'," remarked William dryly. "You can all do that—you foreigners—when you 'ave play' the fool you can pay for it." ”

“ If he could not crush the Jacobites he wanted at least the glory of sparing them; and he had neither the satisfaction of one nor the other; his wrath rose against the King, he did not comprehend his motives. ”

“ Good-evenin', Sir John."
The Master of Stair bowed.
"Take care of the tulip, Sir John—the other day Milor' Devonshire 'e knock the tips off."
William looked toward the bulbs with the interest of the born gardener; in the warmth they gave out a faint sickly fragrance, a sense of young green. "They are very well," remarked the King with satisfaction. "If I 'ad keep them in water they would not smell so—is it not charming? Like it come through the window at Saint Loo." ”