I was very content at my coming; for in spite of all my resolutions, it
was a terrible kind of happiness to me to be in the same country (and so
near to her, too) as was my Cousin Dorothy. I had striven to put her out
of my head, I had occupied myself with that which is the greatest of all
sports--and that is the game that Kings play in secret--I had become
something of a personage, and rode now with four servants, instead of
one. Yet never could I forget her. But I was resolved to play no more
with such nonsense; to live altogether in London, and to send my men in
a day or two to get my things from Hare Street. It often appears to me
very strange, when I see some great man go by whose name is in all men's
mouths for some office he holds or for his great wealth or power, to
reflect that he has his secret interests as much as any, and is moved by
them far more deeply than by those public matters for which men think
that he cares. I was not yet a great personage, though I meant to be so;
and my name was in no men's mouths, for it was of the very essence of
what I did that it should not be; yet I was held in high consideration
by two kings. But for all that, as I turned westwards from London
Bridge, I looked northwards up Gracechurch Street, and longed to be
riding to Hare Street, rather than to Whitehall.

* * * * *

It was strange, and yet very familiar too, to go up those stairs again,
all alone--(for I had sent my men on to Covent Garden, where I had taken
two sets of lodgings now, instead of one)--to tell the servant that Mr.
Chiffinch looked for me, and to be conducted by him straight through to
the private closet where he awaited me over his papers. I was in my
boots, all splashed, and very weary indeed. Yet I had learned, ever
since the day when His Majesty had found fault with me so long ago,