She declared that, barring the fact that the maids must be of
good family, beauty would win the golden apple, as it had in olden
Greece. On hearing this news, I saw the opportunity for which I had
waited so long. If beauty was to be the test, surely my cousin Frances
would become a maid of honor, and once at court, if she could keep her
head and her heart, the fortunes of her house were sure to rise, for the
world has never known so good a beauty market as Whitehall was at that
time.
There was no question about my cousin's beauty. Would she be able to make
it bring a price worthy of its quality? To do this, she must have the
cunning of the serpent, the virtue of a saint, and the courage of Roland
himself. She must not be fastidious, though she must be suspicious. She
must not be a prude, though she must know that all is evil about her.
Lastly she must have no heart, though she must learn the rare art of
being tender to the right person at the right time.
I was sure that Frances was equipped with the mental and moral qualities
necessary in so dangerous a field as Whitehall Court. Among those
qualities was her knowledge that she was beautiful; not that she believed
it as a matter of vanity, but knew it simply as a matter of fact. That
knowledge would give her self-confidence and would help her to value
justly the flattery of men, which was sure to be her portion to
overflowing. She would know that flattery was her due, and therefore
would not be too grateful for it, gratitude being a dangerous virtue in
a woman.
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