w with years but gay and nonchalant as ever, with
Barillon, the French ambassador, on one side and Her Grace of Portsmouth
on the other. Behind came the whole court; the Duchess of Cleveland,
whom our wits were beginning to call "a perennial," because she held her
power with the king and her lovers increased with age; statesmen hanging
upon her for a look or a smile that might lead the way to the king's ear;
Sir George Jeffreys, the judge, whose name was to become England's
infamy; Queen Catherine of Braganza, keeping up hollow mirth with those
whose presence was insult; the Duke of York, soberer than his royal
brother, the king, since Monmouth's menace to the succession; and a host
of hangers-on ready to swear away England's liberties for a licking of
the crumbs that fell from royal lips.

Then the hum of the playhouse seemed as the beating of the north sea; for
Lady Kirke was whispering, "There! There! There she is!" and Hortense
was entering one of the royal boxes accompanied by a foreign-looking,
elderly woman, and that young Lieutenant Blood, whom we had encountered
earlier in the day.

"The countess from Portugal--Her Majesty's friend," murmurs Lady Kirke.
"Ah, Pierre, you have done finely for us all!"

And there oozed over my Lady Kirke's countenance as fine a satisfaction
as ever radiated from the face of a sweating cook.

"How?" asks Pierre Radisson, pursing his lips.

"Sir John hath dined twice with His Royal Highness----"

"The Duke is Governor of the Company, and Sir John is a director."

"Ta-ta, now there you go, Pierre!" smirks my lady. "An your pretty
baggage had not such a saucy way with the men--why--who can tell----"

"Madame," interrupted Pierre Radisson, "God forbid! There be many lords
amaking in strange ways, but we of the wilderness only count honour worth
when it's won honourably."

But Lady Kirke bare heard the rebuke. She was all eyes for the royal
box. "La, now, Pierre," she cries, "see! The king hath recognised you!"
She lurched forward into fuller view of onlookers as she spoke.
"Wella-day! Good lack! Pierre Radisson, I do believe!--Yes!--See!--His
Majesty is sending for you!"

And a page in royal colours appeared to say that the king commanded
Pierre Radisson to present himself in the royal box. With his wiry hair
wild as it had ever been on the north sea, off he went, all unconscious
of the contemptuous looks from courtier and dandy at his strange,
half-savage dress.