Shortly afterwards King Leopold came to England himself, and his reception was as cold at Windsor as it was warm at Kensington.  “To hear dear Uncle speak on any subject,” the Princess wrote in her diary, “is like reading a highly instructive book; his conversation is so enlightened, so clear.  He is universally admitted to be one of the first politicians now extant.  He speaks so mildly, yet firmly and impartially, about politics.  Uncle tells me that Belgium is quite a pattern for its organisation, its industry, and prosperity; the finances are in the greatest perfection.  Uncle is so beloved and revered by his Belgian subjects, that it must be a great compensation for all his extreme trouble.”  But her other uncle by no means shared her sentiments.  He could not, he said, put up with a water-drinker; and King Leopold would touch no wine.  “What’s that you’re drinking, sir?” he asked him one day at dinner.  “Water, sir.”  “God damn it, sir!” was the rejoinder.  “Why don’t you drink wine?  I never allow anybody to drink water at my table.”

It was clear that before very long there would be a great explosion; and in the hot days of August it came.  The Duchess and the Princess had gone down to stay at Windsor for the King’s birthday party, and the King himself, who was in London for the day to prorogue Parliament, paid a visit at Kensington Palace in their absence.  There he found that the Duchess had just appropriated, against his express orders, a suite of seventeen apartments for her own use.  He was extremely angry, and, when he returned to Windsor, after greeting the Princess with affection, he publicly rebuked the Duchess for what she had done.  But this was little to what followed.  On the next day was the birthday banquet; there were a hundred guests; the Duchess of Kent sat on the King’s right hand, and the Princess Victoria opposite.  At the end of the dinner, in reply to the toast of the King’s health, he rose, and, in a long, loud, passionate speech, poured out the vials of his wrath upon the Duchess.  She had, he declared, insulted him—­grossly and continually; she had kept the Princess away from him in the most improper manner; she was surrounded by evil advisers, and was incompetent to act with propriety in the high station which she filled; but he would bear it no longer; he would have her to know he was King; he was determined that his authority should be respected; henceforward the Princess should attend at every Court function with the utmost regularity; and he hoped to God that his life might be spared for six months longer, so that the calamity of a regency might be avoided, and the functions of the Crown pass directly to the heiress-presumptive instead of into the hands of the “person now near him,” upon whose conduct and capacity no reliance whatever could be placed.  The flood of vituperation rushed on for what seemed an interminable period, while the Queen blushed scarlet, the Princess burst into tears, and the hundred guests sat aghast.  The Duchess said not a word until the tirade was over and the company had retired; then in a tornado of rage and mortification, she called for her carriage and announced her immediate return to Kensington.  It was only with the utmost difficulty that some show of a reconciliation was patched up, and the outraged lady was prevailed upon to put off her departure till the morrow.