I incline to think that the rascal had
ratted already, and was anxious to get all he could out of the Government
by leading the Prince into a trap. Trap it would have been, as Culloden
plainly showed. Against English regular soldiers, resolutely led, the
Highlanders would work no more miracles.
So for a space the chatter and laughter went on. Charles was already in
St. James's, and the ladies were already queening it in the new Court over
the renegade beauties of the old one. Even Margaret caught some of the
enthusiasm, so that I whispered to her, "You beat our Kate at counting
your unhatched chickens."
Whereat she sobered all of a sudden, and whispered, "Maybe you are right,
Oliver!"
"I hope for your sake they are true prophets," I said. "I should dearly
like to see you a marchioness before I go back to my farming."
"That's one of the chickens I've not counted," she said.
She looked at me very steadily, and then turned and plunged into the
stream of conversation flowing around her.
Her father had steered clear of all awkward topics, taking for granted
that we were going on.
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