It is little wonder that the Merry Monarch, the fastidious
voluptuary, with his nice discernment in women, should have
checked in his long stride, and halted a moment in consternation.
"Lord!" was his wry comment to Etheredge, who was beside him.
"They've brought me a bat, not a woman."
But if she lacked beauty, she was well cowered, and Charles was
in desperate need of money.
"I suppose," he told Clarendon anon, "I must swallow this black
draught to get the jam that goes with it."
The Chancellor's grave eyes considered him almost sternly what
time he coldly recited the advantages of this marriage. If he did
riot presume to rebuke the ribaldry of his master, neither would
he condescend to smile at it. He was too honest ever to be a
sycophant.
Catherine was immediately attended--in the words of Grammont--by
six frights who called themselves maids-of-honour, and a
governess who was a monster. With this retinue she repaired to
Hampton Court, where the honeymoon was spent, and where for a
brief season the poor woman--entirely enamoured of the graceful,
long-legged rake she had married--lived in a fool's paradise.
Disillusion was to follow soon enough. She might be, by he grace
of her dowry, Queen of England, but she was soon to discover that
to King Charles she was no more than a wife de jure.
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