"Why, bless the good fellow!" ejaculated the goldsmith under his breath, as he leant back in his well-cushioned chair, and tipping together the points of his ten fingers, contemplated Lawrence through his half-closed eyelids with no small curiosity. "'Tis but a cloud-brained lad after all; one would ha' guessed I'd flashed a musket-shot in his ear, to see him start." "Ay," he added aloud, "I was but remarking that fire is a good servant, but a bad master, since 'tis easier to kindle a flame than to put it out. But come, tell me now. How did your suit prosper to-day with his majesty? Though in truth what its nature was I know not; nor desire to be inquisitive," he added good-humouredly, as he perceived that Lee showed little willingness to enlighten him. "But you succeeded in it?" "No--yes, no--that is, I saw the king." "And spoke with him?" "And spoke with him--Oh yes." "And what think you of his majesty?" catechised on his host, just a thought drowsily. "A right debonair and gracious gentleman, is he not so?" "Every inch a king," enthusiastically cried Lee. [Sidenote: Lawrence drinks another toast.] "Oh ho! have I warmed the ice at last?" thought the goldsmith, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Why, so say I, Master Lawrence," he cordially rejoined. "And--come now, a challenge, you can't refuse--nay, i' faith! but you must drain it. I shall hold you a double-dyed traitor else indeed. Here's to King Charles," and reaching the bottle over Lee's goblet, he filled it, unchecked this time, and rose to his feet. "God bless him, and confusion to his foes by land and sea." "Confusion to his foes!" echoed Lawrence, rising too, and draining the cup to its dregs. "And, since his majesty so well pleases you, what think you of his Newmarket palace?" continued Alworth, as both resumed their seats, manfully struggling to keep up the lagging ball of conversation, though, to own the truth, a long day over his ledgers, the dulness of his companion, who did not seem to be able to originate one single observation, and the supper he had eaten, were beginning to work more and more soporifically upon him. [Sidenote: A rat-hole for a palace.] "Palace!" cried Lee with sudden animation. "A rat-hole; just a rat-hole. Only fit to be smoked out!" "Scarce big enough, truly, to swing a cat in," laughingly acquiesced Alworth. "'Tis a mean place, as you say, with its chimneys huddled away in corners and crannies, as if they were ashamed of themselves; and the house abutting, like any common one, upon the street, without any court or avenue to't."[1] [1] _Evelyn's Diary._ "I looked to find it built somewhere upon the course itself," said Lee.