"I never accused you, madam." That answer seemed to please her, for on the instant she went off into such a fit of laughter as fairly choked her. When she had a little recovered from the paroxysm of coughing that followed this, "You can be more amusing than you think, Charles," she said. "If your father had had a spark of your humour----" "I thought that it was agreed between us that we should not talk of him," the man said gravely, and with a slight suspicion of sternness in his voice. "Oh, if you are on your high horse!" madam answered, "the devil take you! But, there, I am sure that I do not want to talk of him, poor man. He was dull enough. Let us talk of something livelier, let us talk of Monterey instead; what is amiss with her?" "I do not think that she is a fit person to be about you." "Why not? She is married now," my lady retorted. "D'ye know that?" "Yes, I heard some time ago that she was married; to Mr. Bridges' steward at Kingston." "Matthew Smith?" "Yes." "And who recommended _him_ to my husband, I should like to know?" madam answered in a tone of malice. "Why, you, my friend." "It is possible. I remember something of the kind." "And who recommended him to you? Why, she did: in the days when you did not warn people against her." And madam chuckled wickedly. "It is possible," he answered, "but the matter is twelve years old, and more; and I do not want to----" "Go back to it," madam cried sharply. "I can quite understand that. Nor to have Monterey about to remind you of it--and of your wild oats." "Perhaps." "Perhaps, Mr. Square-Toes? You know it is the case!" was the vivid answer. "For otherwise, as I like the woman, and now, at all events, she is married--what is against her?" "I do not trust her," was the measured answer. "And, madam, in these days people are more strait-laced than they were; it is not fitting." "That for people!" my lady cried with a reckless good humour that would have been striking in one half her age. "People! Odds my life, when did I care for people? But come, I will make a bargain with you. Tit for tat. A Roland for your Oliver! If you will give me your Anne I will give you my Monterey." "My Anne?" he exclaimed, in a tone of complete bewilderment. "Yes, your Anne! Come, my Monterey for your Anne!" There was silence for a moment, and then "I do not at all understand you," he said. "Don't you? I think you do," she answered lightly. "Look you, 'When William king is William king no more.' Now, you understand?" "I understand, my lady, that you are saying things which are not fitting for me to hear," the man answered, in a tone of cold displeasure. "The King, thank God, is well. When he ails, it will be time to talk of his succession." "It will be a little late then," she retorted. "In the meantime, and to please me----" He raised his hand in protest. "Anything else," he said.