The girls clearly adored him; it was obvious in their faces. Not so the King and Queen.

He could see the irritation he always provoked; it was apparent in the King's bulging eyes and the twitching of his brows; and the Queen's resentment was there too. She wanted to be part of his rich and exciting life. As if that were possible!

But there was a pretence of affability; and later he attended a drawing room which was very public; many of his own attendants were present and the King chatted to him most of the time to show the company that all was well between them.

But all was not well, thought the Prince. It was some months since he had seen the King and it might have been that he was therefore more aware of the change than those who saw him every day.

By God, he thought, the old man's changed. He talks too much and the repetition is greater than it used to be. He seems to lose the thread of what he's saying. What does it mean?

He wished that Fox were available so that he could report to him. If the King were going to be ... ill, that could present a new and dazzling prospect. He wondered whether Pitt had noticed the alarming changes in his father.

Yet even with such a prospect before him he could think of little but Maria. He would know no peace until he had explained to her that the fault was not his. Charles James Fox had gone too far. That must be his theme.

Maria must come back to him. Whatever the world thought, to him she would always be his wife.

So he went through the farce of friendship with the King; he was affable to the Queen; he talked to the Princesses, noticed that Charlotte was inclined to be bandy, thought what dull creatures they were—but then all women were dull when compared with Maria—and then was sorry for them because they would be prisoners for longer than he had been. He at least had made a part escape at the age of eighteen when he had set up Perdita Robinson in Cork Street.

He thought of those days witli pity. Had he really believed himself in love with Perdita? How could any emotion lie would ever feel compare with his love for Maria? And Maria had left him ... sworn she would never see him again.

So there he was back at Maria.

As soon as he could conveniently leave Windsor he was on his way back to London, to write to Maria, to appeal to Maria, to beg her, implore her to come back to him.

Maria would not see him. She was staying in the house of a friend who was also a distant connection of her family, the Honourable Mrs. Butler, and with her was Miss Pigot—and both these ladies acted as her guardians.

The Prince called; alas, she would not see him. It was unprecedented. Who else but Maria would not be at home to the Prince of Wales? He stormed and raged; then he pleaded; but it was no use. Maria was not to be seen. What could he do?

He demanded to see Miss Pigot. She was an old friend of his as well as Maria's and she told him at once that Maria had repeatedly said that she would not see him and there was nothing Miss Pigot could do to persuade her.

'But she can't mean it, dear Pig.'

Dear Pig assured him that she did.

'I have never seen her so distressed, Your Highness, as she was when she heard what Mr. Fox had said.'

'But she knows Fox.'

'Yes, but he spoke on Your Highness's direct authority. That's what broke her heart.'

'Her heart broken. What about mine. Sheridan spoke well of her. Did she hear that.'

'Oh yes, sir, she heard of it; and she was mollified to some extent, but it didn't alter what Mr. Fox had said.'

'Dearest Pig, tell me what I can do to convince her that I adore her.'

'Well, there's only one thing, and it seems it's the only thing you can't do. Admit to the King and the Parliament and the world that she's your wife.'

'There'd be trouble ... great trouble ... if I did.' He thought of the King as he had last seen him. That peculiar look which was sometimes in his eves. What could it mean? Glittering possibilities! And what disasters could follow if he admitted to marriage?

'She's a Catholic, that's the trouble.'

'It's a sad state of affairs, Your Highness. And it seems there's no way out.'

'Pig, you'll do what you can for me?'

'You can be sure I will.'

'Remind her of what a good husband I've been to her, will you?'

'She doesn't need to be reminded, sir. She remembers ... She says so.'

'She says I've been a good husband?' he asked eagerly.

'Yes, right up to the time you denied you were.'

7 did not. It was Fox. Oh, he went too far. There was no need to go as far as that.'

Miss Pigot shook her head at him sadly. 'I'll do my best. I talk to her, but at the moment it's no use. If I saw that it was, you can trust me to let you know at once.'

'Bless you, dearest Pig.'

'I'll tell her how downcast you are.'

'Downcast! I'm broken-hearted. Honestly, Piggy, I shall do something desperate if she doesn't come back to me.'

'I'll tell her. She's still fond of you, of course.'

But although she told Maria, it was no use. Maria was adamant.

He had denied he was married to her; and if that ceremony had not been a solemn one to him, then her conscience would not allow her to live with him as his wife.

The Prince was very ill. He suffered a violent paroxysm and had to be bled almost to the point of danger. Rumours spread through the Court that he was seriously ill.

Miss Pigot brought them to Maria. She looked at her friend and mistress sadly.

'He has brought this on himself because you won't see him,' she said.

'He is too violent,' said Maria. 'He should learn to control his feelings.'

'Perhaps they are too strong to be controlled.'

'They weren't strong enough for him to claim me as his wife.'

'Oh, Maria, are you not a little hard on him? Consider his position. He could lose the throne.'

'I told him that many times. I told him to consider carefully. You know I went abroad to escape him but he would not have that.'

'He loves you, Maria. You forget that.'

'I do not forget that he loves me in his way ...'

'In such a way that he is brought near to death because of you.'

'You are a good advocate, Piggy. Has lie asked you to plead his cause?'

'I speak as I sec,' said the blunt Miss Pigot. 'And I see this, Maria: If he admitted he was married to a Catholic he would have put the succession in danger. There might even be a war. Have you ever thought of that? You say you love him; he says he loves you. He cannot give up his crown. There is too much involved. It is like asking you to give up your religion. Why should all the sacrifice be on one side?'

'Piggy, what arc you saying?'

I'm telling you the facts as I see them. You want him to tell the world that he has married you—that's just for your satisfaction, to make things right for your religion, you say. All well and good. Well he is asking you to give up your pride, your religious convictions ... not all of them, only those that concern the open acknowledgement of the marriage. He can't and you won't ... or perhaps you can't cither. But I don't see how one is being more self-willed than the other. For obvious reasons he can't proclaim you his wife.'

'He made his vows to me.'

'And you to him.'

Maria was silent.

'And now,' said Miss Pigot, 'he's ill because of you ... fretting for you.'

'If it's one of his paroxysms,' said Maria, 'it's a fit of rage and anger because everything he wants doesn't fall into his lap.'

'I've had it on very good authority ... from his doctors no less ... that his condition is very dangerous.'

Maria turned away and went out of the room.

Miss Pigot, watching her, thought: Perhaps this is the time. A message to His Highness? Perhaps she could explain to him that if he were very careful ... there might be a chance.