The maid opened the door. She put her head into the room, announcing resentfully: “The gentleman!” and vanished.
Roxhythe came forward, removing his hat.
Christopher gazed at him in perplexity. It must be remembered that he was not long come from the country, and had seen very few notables of the town. His visitor’s face was totally unfamiliar.
Roxhythe shed his heavy cloak. He was gorgeously dressed in rose velvet and purple trimmings, for he had come straight from Whitehall. As he dropped his cloak on to a chair he smiled at Christopher who stared the harder.
“I must really apologize,” said Roxhythe, in his inimitable way. “It is quite disgraceful of me to wait on you at this hour, Mr. Dart. But I have been much occupied, believe me. I am relieved to find you not yet asleep; much relieved.”
Christopher swallowed twice, and stammered something inane. The deep brown eyes cast a spell over him which was strengthened by his visitor’s strange manner. Feeling that his murmured remark was inadequate, he bowed, and told Roxhythe that he was honoured. From my lord’s attitude he supposed that he had met him somewhere and forgotten him. He did not know the ways of Roxhythe.
My lord drew off his fringed gloves. Rings winked from his fingers.
“You are wondering what-a-plague I want with you,” he remarked.
Christopher spoke rather coldly.
“I confess, sir, I am at a loss.”
“Naturally. I shall have to explain, and I was ever a bad hand at that. May I sit down?”
Christopher blushed. Roxhythe had made him feel a raw schoolboy. He put forward a chair, not without resentment.
“Pray do, sir. I regret I have not better entertainment to offer you, but, as you know, I was not expecting this visit.”
Roxhythe took the chair and leant back in it, looking up at the stiff young figure with some amusement.
“My dear Mr. Dart, I can never explain my errand if you stand above me so disapprovingly.”
In spite of his slightly offended self, Christopher went over to another chair.
“I see, sir, that you know my name. May I not have the honour of yours?”
His lordship’s brows rose.
“I am Roxhythe,” he said, with faint surprise.
The naive egotism passed over Christopher’s head. He stood transfixed in an amazement that plainly showed itself on his face. He recovered, and bowed again.
“I am indeed honoured,” he said.
Roxhythe’s lip quivered.
“On the contrary,” he replied. “The honour is mine. Yes, do sit down. I cannot bear you on your feet any longer. And before we proceed any further, permit me to say that that solemn fellow—Cooper—Ashley-Cooper will hold himself responsible for me.”
Christopher conceived that he was being laughed at.
“Lord Ashley-Cooper is a great friend of mine, sir,” he said coldly.
“A most praiseworthy, energetic gentleman,” nodded Roxhythe. “He recommended me to wait on you.”
Light began to dawn on Christopher.
“My lord has work for me?” he asked, forgetting his studied coldness.
“That is it, Mr. Dart. Work for—ah King and Country if you’ve a mind to it.” He watched the young man’s eyes grow eager. “Work of a very private nature.”
“I can be—discreet, sir!”
“So Ashley assures me. I stand in need of a secretary.”
For one moment Christopher looked blank. Then he flushed angrily.
“Sir—!”
“I am not making sport of you,” pleaded Roxhythe. “It is very serious, urgent business.”
“I—”
“I could not trust my present secretary for the work I have to do.”
“Oh! Then it is not for you that I should have to work?”
“I am very sorry,” said Roxhythe. “I am afraid I should require you to—”
“I meant—it is for some State business?”
“State business; yes, Mr. Dart, that is it. I work for my master, and you work for me. That is the position.”
“Is your master the King, sir?”
Roxhythe was again surprised.
“Naturally.”
Christopher leaned forward.
“Will you not—propound, sir?”
Roxhythe drew his gloves lazily through his fingers. He did not look at Christopher. Briefly he outlined as much of the plot as was meet for the other to hear, ending with the part Christopher was to play. He had apologized for being unversed in the art of speaking, but it was a very concise and unfaltering tale that he unfolded. He explained the whole affair in a rather bored manner, and as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a King and his minister to go behind the backs of other ministers to form secret treaties with prisoner princes. But so well did he tell it that this aspect of the situation never struck young Dart at all. When Roxhythe had finished he drew a deep breath. His eyes shone.
Roxhythe ate a sweet meat.
For a moment Christopher remained silent. Then he rose abruptly, and walked to the window, opening it and looking out over the river to the houses beyond. The night air blew in at the casement, stirring his fair curls as it passed him, and spread coldly over the room. Somewhere below a bargeman called to his fellow, but the sound of his voice came muffled to the quiet room. Christopher spoke with suppressed excitement.
“I—am very sensible—of the great honour—you do me in confiding in me, sir.”
“Yes,” agreed Roxhythe. “But will you take the post I offer?”
Youthful impetuosity cried yes! Native caution hesitated. Native caution won.
“If I might—think on it,” ventured Christopher, half-ashamed at what he felt to be sheer timorousness.
“I will give you—” Roxhythe glanced at the clock, “—fourteen hours.”
Christopher shut the window.
“Thank you, sir. I shall know my mind by then.”
“You know it now,” answered Roxhythe languidly. “But by all means ask his advice.”
“Sir!” Christopher was taken aback. For a moment he looked foolish, then his boyish smile appeared. “Well, yes, sir; I could consult Lord Ashley. He was an old friend of my father’s, and as my brother is away—”
“Don’t apologize. Of course consult him. Your brother is in the Prince of Orange’s service, I believe?”
“Yes,
