Northcote instantly replied, “Sir, I never allow any one to take personal liberties with me;—­you are the first who ever presumed to do so, and I beg your Royal Highness to recollect that I am in my own house.”  He then resumed his painting.

The Prince, whatever he thought or felt, kept it to himself; and, remaining silent for some minutes, Mr. Northcote addressed his conversation to the lady, when the royal Duke, gently opening the door of the studio, shut it after him, and walked away.

Northcote did not quit his post, but proceeded with the picture.  It happened that the royal carriage was not ordered until five o’clock;—­it was now not four.  Presently the royal Duke returned, reopened the door, and said, “Mr. Northcote, it rains; pray lend me an umbrella.”  Northcote, without emotion, rang the bell; the servant attended; and he desired her to bring her mistress’s umbrella, that being the best in the house, and sufficiently handsome.  The royal Duke patiently waited for it in the back drawing-room, the studio door still open; when, having received it, he again walked down stairs, attended by the female servant.  On her opening the street door, his Royal Highness thanked her, and, spreading the umbrella, departed.

“Surely his Royal Highness is not gone,—­I wish you would allow me to ask,” said Lady ——.  “Certainly his Royal Highness is gone,” replied Northcote; “but I will inquire at your instance.”  The bell was rung again, and the servant confirmed the assertion.

“Dear Mr. Northcote,” said Lady ——­, “I fear you have highly offended his Royal Highness.”—­“Madam,” replied the painter, “I am the offended party.”  Lady ——­ made no remark, except wishing that her carriage had arrived.  When it came, Mr. Northcote courteously attended her down to the hall:  he bowed, she curtsied, and stepping into her carriage, set off with the young Roscius.

The next day, about noon, Mr. Northcote happening to be alone, a gentle tap was heard, and the studio door being opened, in walked his Royal Highness.  “Mr. Northcote,” said he, “I am come to return your sister’s umbrella, which she was so good as to lend me yesterday.”  The painter bowed, received it, and placed it in a corner.

“I brought it myself, Mr. Northcote, that I might have the opportunity of saying that I yesterday thoughtlessly took a very unbecoming liberty with you, and you properly resented it.  I really am angry with myself, and hope you will forgive me, and think no more of it.”

“And what did you say?” inquired the first friend to whom Northcote related the circumstance.  “Say!  Gude God! what would ’e have me have said?  Why, nothing?  I only bowed, and he might see what I felt.  I could, at the instant, have sacrificed my life for him!—­such a Prince is worthy to be a King!” The venerable painter had the gratification to live to see him a King.  May he long remain so!

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