'Excellent in all things, Liz. I have blundered and have no desire to take part in this debate. Yes, Liz, I think I'll be ill for a while.'

'A wise decision,' said Lizzie. 'I will immediately begin to nurse you.'

During the early part of the year there was little talk of anything at Court but the Regency Bill.

Society divided itself into two camps—those for the Prince and those for the King. The Duchess of Devonshire was wholeheartedly on the side of the Whigs and the Prince of Wales; everyone who came to her parties wore Regency caps. The Duchess of Gordon, a staunch Tory, gave parties at which the ladies wore ribbons inscribed with the words 'God Save the King'. Maria entertained more lavishly than ever before—the chief of the Prince's supporters.

When the Regency Bill was brought up for discussion in the

House it was inevitable that the Prince's marriage should be referred to.

One of the clauses in the Bill stated that if the Prince resided outside Great Britain or should at any time marry a Papist the powers invested in him should cease.

Mr. Rolle moved an amendment to change the wording of this clause.

He wanted to add: 'Or should at any time be proved to be married in fact or in law to a Papist.'

Mr. Pitt, however, declared that the amendment was unacceptable as the clause was the same as that he had found in other Regency Bills and he believed it offered sufficient security.

Sheridan and Grey both rose to attack Mr. Rolle. The absence of Mr. Fox was commented on by their opponents and, as Fox had feared, the question of the Prince's marriage was again brought forward.

Grey stated that had Mr. Fox not been fully satisfied that his statement on a previous occasion had been true he would have risked his life—however ill he might be—to come to the house on this day.

It was an uneasy situation.

The Prince heard accounts of the debates and wondered what was going to happen next.

Maria was his great anxiety now, as she had been on that previous occasion. But for Maria he would have nothing to fear. It was entirely due to Maria that he must feel this uneasiness now. What big sacrifices he made for Maria!

He entertained guests at Carlton House or in Pall Mall every night. He went to see Fox, and finding him indeed looking in poor health his conscience smote him. Charles had been a good friend to him and when he was with him he remembered this. The ever ready tears came into his eyes as he talked to Fox of the old days. And there was Lizzie, as lovely as ever, to add a discreet word now and then to the conversation.

'When this miserable business is settled, Charles,' he said, 'you shall be my Prime Minister.'

Prime Minister, thought Charles, after the Prince had gone. It had been the dream of a lifetime.

Then he fell to wondering whether the Prince would keep his word. And he remembered the letter which he had not given up and which should be a warning if ever anything was.

For a man of his genius he had not had very much success. He had been very little in office. But Prime Minister! That would make it all worth while.

Yet he felt tired and disillusioned; he kept thinking of the olive groves of Italy and Lizzie beside him reading to him 01 talking of the pictures they had seen that day in one of the galleries.

The Prince was surrounded by friends.

Each day they waited for news from Kew. The Duke of Cumberland had his spies there to report on his brother's progress further along the road to madness. The Prince had promised his uncle the Garter when he came to power. And then of course there would be no more of this absurd banishment from Court, he told the Duchess.

Sheridan should be Treasurer for the Navy. A good post, thought Sheridan, but not Prime Minister of course. Fox was still hoping for that. But it was very likely that in due course ...

He would not relinquish his dream.

So in the House the debates continued. The parties went on; the Prince made lavish promises; and while the Queen's friends prayed for a return of His Majesty to health those of the Prince talked of the Regency and looked forward to the day when it should come into force.

Then came news which was disturbing to the Prince of Wales and so pleasing to the King's supporters. His Majesty's health had shown some signs of improvement; he was now enjoying periods of lucidity.

His doctors believed that there was a very good prospect of

his being restored to health.

• # #

The King's periods of lucidity had been gradually increasing during January and the early part of February, and because of his passion for fresh air his doctors agreed that he might take

little walks in the gardens as long as he was accompanied by one of them and certain attendants.

The King was aware of his illness and very sad because of it; he still talked rapidly until his voice grew hoarse, and although his mind was clear, on certain occasions no one could be sure when he would act with the utmost strangeness.

When his favourite daughter, Amelia, was brought to him he embraced the little girl so fiercely that she protested and made as though to escape, but he would not allow her to do this and dung to her straining her to him until she began to scream to be released. She was forcibly removed by some of the King's attendants and ran crying from the room, leaving the King bewildered and unhappy, wondering why his beloved daughter ran away from him.

But there was no doubt that his health was improving all the time the Regency Bill was being debated.

Fanny Burney who had been suffering herself from the rigours of court life—draughty corridors, long hours of attendance on the never-satisfied Schwellenburg, and the general air of melancholy which pervaded the royal apartments these days—had been advised by her doctor to take exercise in the gardens at Kew and regularly she followed this excellent advice.

She confessed to Colonel Digby that she was terrified of meeting the King on these occasions, so if he should be walking at the same time as she was she always took the precaution of enquiring which way he had gone.

'For, Colonel Digby,' she declared, 'I do not know what I should do if I came face to face with His Majesty. What should I say?'

'You would not have to speak at all, Miss Burney. The King would do all the talking that was necessary.'

'But His Majesty would expect some answers. Moreover, I dare not think in what state His Majesty might be.'

'He is much better than he was. At times quite himself.'

'So I hear ... but...'

'If my duties do not prevent me perhaps I could have the

pleasure of protecting you, Miss Burney, in the gardens of Kew.'

Fanny fluttered her eyelashes. Indeed, the Colonel was a gallant gentleman. Only a little while ago he had brought a carpet for her room, for there was nothing but the bare boards and the wind blowing through the ill-fitting windows was enough to chill one to the bone.

It would be pleasant to walk with Colonel Digby; but of course he had his duties. Schwellenburg had already mentioned to the Queen that Colonel Digby was constantly waiting on Miss Burney though he never waited on her; and the Queen had asked Fanny—half to her delight, half to her chagrin—why the Colonel was so frequently in her rooms. Fanny had wanted to complain then bitterly about Schwellen-burg's treatment of her, but how could one complain to a poor woman who was beside herself with anxieties? If the Queen could put up with a mad husband, surely Fanny could suffer a disagreeable old woman. So she replied that Colonel Digby was a friend and they had much in common—literature for one thing. The Queen was always ready to accept an explanation of Fanny's that concerned literature. After all, was not Fanny a famous novelist?