Of a Meeting near Fulham
’twas the king, and if the king were willing that he should be himself. And he stood like an owl, pursing his lips, till Old Rowley turned to him.
“I fear, Danby,” says he demurely, “that the rogue is right, and that he will escape justice this time. You see, if he were to call upon me I must testify to the truth.”
“As for the matter of my Lord Danby’s purse,” said I, stepping forward, “If your Majesty will recall, it was none so fat, and I misdoubt but we have expended all upon our revels. But an’ I may make restitution in another way, maybe this trinket will suffice for its value;” and down I flung the necklet on the table.
My Lord Danby gaped in an amaze, and Old Rowley, lifting his eyebrows, humorously glanced upon it with a rueful air, and surveyed Madam out of the tail of his eyes.
“Take it, Danby,” says he, “and forgive the varlet.”
But my lord, who was regaining his composure, raised the jewels gingerly on his finger,
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