This was the end—in miserable, trivial jealousy. The friendship that had lasted so long, keen and pure, so devoted, had strained and broken. Portland sat, with this sad appeal in his hand, and knew that it was over. He did not acknowledge that he was unreasonable; he had served William faithfully and devotedly, both as friend and servant, and he had been greatly rewarded; he was one of the wealthiest subjects in Europe; he had an English earldom, and the Garter that foreign kings envied; he was Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Privy Councillor, Groom of the Stole, and Keeper of the King’s Gardens; the King had supported him again and again against the Commons, taken his advice, flattered him by an open display of his friendship, entrusted him with the important embassy to France, enriched his son, and, when the breach began to grow, spared nothing to heal it. Few kings could have ever entreated a subject as William had entreated Bentinck. But he would not dismiss Albemarle; he listened to Sunderland; and everything was nothing to Portland compared to the fact that he should have to share the King’s confidence with this young, untried, light-hearted young man. When he returned from Paris he had found Albemarle in possession of rooms in the Palace that he considered belonged to him in virtue of one of his offices, and the little incident had confirmed his resolution of quitting the Court. He would be second to no one, least of all to a man whom he considered as the tool of a faction that he loathed and despised. He was well aware that Albemarle was popular, and that he was not; that he had few supporters in his point of view, and that Albemarle had a great following gained by his universal sweetness, good sense, and humility. He was well aware, too, that the King had never more needed his friendship than now; for the present session of Parliament had inflicted one cruel humiliation on him, and was about to inflict another. The King’s grants of lands in Ireland had been looked into and revoked—even such as he had given to the noble Ginckel, who had done such service, and Meinhard de Schomberg, son of the soldier who had died for England on the banks of Boyne Water. William, who had disappointed his enemies by preserving a serene composure when he had been forced to consent to the disbanding of the troops, had scarcely been able to conceal his mortification at this malice on the part of the Tories, and was still further moved by the agitation rising in the Commons to turn all foreign soldiers out of the kingdom, including the famous Dutch Guards and the refugee French Huguenots whom William had long had in his service. But none of this shook William Bentinck’s stern resolution to leave the Court.