returned. "I simply want to tell you
that my cousin, Mistress Jennings, has just informed me of her intention
to leave Whitehall, and I wonder--"

"No, no," cried the king, interrupting me. "She shall not go! Why is she
discontented here?"

"I am not sure that I can tell your Majesty," I answered evasively. "I am
loath to see her go, and, knowing well your kindliness, hoped you would
be willing to urge her to remain."

"Gladly," replied the king. "She is the most beautiful ornament of our
court, and we must not lose her. I don't mind telling you for your own
ear that I suspect the cause of her sudden resolution and respect it."

He laughed, and after a long pause, continued:--

"I forgot that she was fresh from the country, and that she still
retained part of her prudish ideas, so while walking with her yesterday
on the Serpentine, I offered her a pension, to which she is justly
entitled, adorning our court as she does. But I fear she took my honest
efforts at gallantry too seriously. My dear baron, the girl shall
have her pension without the slightest return on her part save one of her
rare smiles now and then. Say to her, please, that the king sends his
apology and eagerly awaits an opportunity to offer it in person."

"I thank your Majesty," I answered, rising and bowing, "and feel sure
you have done all that is needful to keep my cousin at court. She has
certain prudish standards which I fear are too easily shocked, and is
as self-willed as--well, as a beautiful woman--"

"Ought to be," interrupted the king, laughing and finishing my sentence.

I wanted him to suspect that his gallant speeches would be repeated to
me, hoping that the knowledge might temper them.

After talking a moment longer with him, I asked permission to withdraw,
and at once sought Frances. When I found her in the parlor of the
duchess, I drew her to one side and told her of my interview with the
king.

"You have tamed the lion," I said, "and you may accept the pension
without harm to your sensitive dignity. But please don't make a fool of
yourself again by taking such a matter seriously. Keep your head, keep
your heart, keep your temper, and thrive. Lose either, and have the whole
court laughing at you. I'm sorry Hamilton is so fixed in your heart that
you cannot dislodge him, but this good may grow out of the evil: you may
judge other men dispassionately."

A great sigh was her only answer.

* * * *