It was a singular irony that my Lady Castlemaine should be
largely responsible for the existence of that party. In her
hatred for Clarendon, and her blind search for weapons that would
slay the Chancellor, she had, if not actually invented, at least
helped to give currency to the silly slander that Clarendon had
deliberately chosen for Charles a barren queen, so as to ensure
the ultimate succession of his own daughter's children. But she
had never thought to see that slander recoil upon her as it now
did; she had never thought that a party would come to rise up in
consequence that would urge divorce upon the King at the very
moment when he was consumed by passion for the unattainable,
artlessly artful Frances Stewart.

It was Buckingham, greatly daring, who slyly made himself that
party's mouthpiece. The suggestion startled Charles, voicing, as
perhaps it did, the temptation by which he was secretly assailed.
He looked at Buckingham, frowning.

"I verily believe you are the wickedest dog in England."

The impudent gallant made a leg. "For a subject, sire, I believe
I am."

Charles--with whom the amusing word seems ever to have been more
compelling than the serious--laughed his soft, mellow laugh. Then
he sighed, and the frown of thought returned.

"It would be a wicked thing to make a poor lady miserable only
because she is my wife, and has no children by me, which is no