It seemed to the King that times had sadly changed from the regency of his grandfather. Nobody had ever ventured to argue with him about the desirability of the company he chose to keep. But now Wellington, the Lord Chamberlain, and the Archbishop of Canterbury had as much as told King George that he must break with Mrs. Carey. It was hard if he couldn't have his own way even in the little court at the South End. True, the papers had been full of Mrs. Carey these three months--the last _Sunday Globe_ had contained a grand plan of her own and the royal apartments, and the _Advertiser_ of the following day had printed, without apparent reason, an editorial upon Mademoiselle de la Valliere. But the King considered it highly impertinent of American journals to make any personal comment whatever upon majesty, and had almost burst a blood-vessel when approached soon after his arrival by an interviewer from the New York _Herald_. Still, there was one ugly fact remaining--Mrs. Carey's fainting fit. What could have frightened her into that? Not Lord Brompton, with all his rhodomontade--the King liked to call it rhodomontade; it soothed a certain uneasy feeling he had had at times about his own part in the affair. Brompton was ardent enough, but he was not well balanced; he was impracticable; he did not properly sense the feeling of the times, but was eager to force an opportunity. Well, well--where was Mrs. Carey? It was audience time, and he meant to have her receive, with the ladies in waiting. He rang the bell, and a page entered with a card. The King looked at it, surprised; the card was something between an ordinary visiting card and a tradesman's circular: ___________________________________ | | | [COAT OF ARMS.] | | | | JARLEY JAWKINS, | | | | MASTER OF SOCIAL CEREMONIES | | | | and | | | | PURVEYOR OF GUESTS | | | | TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING. | | | ----------------------------------- The King threw himself upon the throne--it was a fine old carved oak chair, one which had come over in the Mayflower--and waited.