as your _billets-doux_! I'll kiss 'em just as hard!"

"So!" cries Lady Kirke, bobbing a courtesy and blowing a kiss from her
finger-tips as we rolled away in Sir John's coach.

"The old flirt-o'-tail," blurted Radisson, "you could pack her brains
in a hazel-nut; but 'twould turn the stomach of a grub!"

* * * * * *

'Twas not the Whitehall you know to-day, which is but a remnant of the
grand old pile that stretched all the way from the river front to the
inner park. Before the fires, Whitehall was a city of palaces reaching
far into St. James, with a fleet of royal barges at float below the
river stairs. From Scotland Yard to Bridge Street the royal ensign
blew to the wind above tower and parapet and battlement. I mind under
the archway that spanned little Whitehall Street M. Radisson dismissed
our coachman.

"How shall we bring up the matter of Hortense?" I asked.

"Trust me," said Radisson. "The gods of chance!"

"Will you petition the king direct?"

"Egad--no! Never petition a selfish man direct, or you'll get a No!
Bring him round to the generous, so that he may take all credit for it
himself! Do you hold back among the on-lookers till I've told our
story o' the north! 'Tis not a state occasion! Egad, there'll be
court wenches aplenty ready to take up with a likely looking man! Have