heir long, thick lashes lurked a fund of laughter and harmless mischief
as charming as it was apparently latent. Her form was of the partridge
fashion, though not at all too plump, and her hands, which were white and
soft as any lady's, were small and dimpled at every knuckle. Her little
feet and ankles--but we shall stop at the ankles.

Betty was unusually rich in dimples, having one in each cheek and a half
score or more about her lips and chin whenever she smiled. She was well
aware of the beauty of her dimples and her teeth; therefore, like a
sensible girl that she was, she smiled a great deal, both from feminine
policy and natural inclination. In short, Bettina was a Hebe in youth and
beauty, and soon after I learned to know her, I learned also that she was
an earthly little angel in disposition. It may appear from the enthusiasm
of this description that there was a time in my life when I was in love
with her. I admit it--desperately in love with her.

To have Betty's services at the Old Swan was a favor enjoyed only by her
friends and guests of the highest quality. She was not an ordinary
barmaid, though she had friends whom she delighted to honor. Among these
were Hamilton and myself, we having visited the Old Swan frequently prior
to the time of Hamilton's going to France.

Frances and Nelly had chosen a table in a secluded corner of the private
dining room, and were waiting somewhat impatiently when Betty went in to
serve them.

"Will my ladies eat from table linen--extra, sixpence?" asked Betty,
bending her knee in what might have been called a perpendicular courtesy.
Had she been sure that her customers were of high rank, she would have
saluted them with a low bow, omitting to mention the extra charge for the
linen. But as Frances and Nelly were not escorted by a gentleman, she was
not sure of their station.

"Will we eat from table linen?" demanded Nelly, in apparent indignation.
"Now, damn the girl! Just hear her! From what else, in God's name, hussy,
should we eat? From a trough? And mind you, if there is a spot on it as
large as my smallest finger nail, I'll tear it to shreds!" She winked to
Frances, perhaps to show Betty that she was only chaffing, for in all the
world there was no kinder heart than Nelly Gwynn's.

Betty at once concluded that her guests were great ladies, perhaps from
Whitehall itself, for surely none save ladies of the highest or lowest
rank would use the language that came so tri