By the time they reached Whitehall she was more popular than he, and the nobles who rode in the procession thought to themselves that the English wife would serve to keep the foreign husband in the affections of the people. Whitehall was filled with English, Dutch, and Scotch waiting to kiss her hand: Mr. Sidney was there, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Russell, Lord Shrewsbury, Lord Devonshire, Lord Halifax, Lord Godolphin, Lord Danby, and others whom she did not know or had forgotten; their background was that splendid palace, seeming vast and magnificent indeed after her houses in Holland, which she had left so sadly ten years ago. Then she had wept, now she laughed and was very gracious, but in her heart she was as reluctant to enter Whitehall as she had ever been to leave it; the memories the place aroused were poignant, not sweet. It was three hours before she found herself alone with the Prince in that gorgeous little chamber that had once been her father’s, and still contained his pictures, statues, his monogram and arms on chairs and carvings. The instant he had closed the door the Prince kissed her in silence, and she burst into speech. "Are you satisfied? Are you pleased? Is this another step in your task—they—these people—will they help? How long the time hath seemed!" "To me also," said the Prince unsteadily. She stepped back to look at him anxiously: he was extravagantly vestured in embroidered scarlet, lace, jewels, the George and garter conspicuous, and a great star of diamonds on his breast. A close scrutiny showed that he looked more ill and weary than she had ever known him. "You are changed," she said quickly. "Oh, my dear, the climate doth not suit you——" He smiled languidly. "I would we had met in Holland," he answered. "I am sick for Holland, Marie." "Already?" He seated himself in the deep window-seat that overlooked the privy garden and she took the low stool beside, studying him wistfully for one hint of that enthusiasm and elation which she hoped would be called forth by his splendid success. "We could not have asked God for a more happy ending," she said in a trembling voice. "They—the English—will declare against France," he answered, but without spirit, and as if it was an effort to speak at all. "If I could get them into the field this spring——" He was interrupted by his cough, which was violent and frequent, and he flung the window open impatiently. "There is no air in this place," he continued, in a gasping voice; "their smoky chimneys and their smells are killing me; I cannot endure London." "We need not live here," said Mary quickly. "They think so," he returned; "’tis our post, where we are paid to be——" The scarcely concealed bitterness with which he spoke of England was a matter of amaze and terror to Mary, in whose ears still rang the enthusiastic shouts of the people and the flatteries of the courtiers. "But you are popular——" she began.