When we entered her Grace's parlor, she rose, came to meet us, paused
for a moment, gave one glance to Frances, and, without a word of
presentation, offered her hand to my cousin, saying:--
"I need no introduction to Mistress Jennings. Her beauty has been
heralded, and I know her. I understand she wishes to do me the grace of
becoming one of my maids of honor?"
"Yes, madam," returned Frances, kneeling and kissing her Grace's hand. "I
hope you may do me the grace of accepting my poor services."
"Oh, do not kneel to me here among ourselves," said the duchess, smiling
graciously. "It is you who grant the favor, and, without more ado, I
heartily welcome you to our family."
Thus, almost before she knew it, Frances's beauty had won, as we had been
sure it would, and she was a maid of honor in Whitehall Palace to her
Grace, the Duchess of York, sister-in-law to the king.
"The Mother of the Maids will instruct you in your duties, chief of which
you will find easy enough, that is, to be beautiful," said the duchess,
taking a chair and indicating that we were to be seated.
Frances, Mary, and Lady Wentworth took chairs, but nothing short of a
broken leg or tottering age would have justified me in accepting the
invitation to sit.
"Before I send for the Mother of the Maids," said the duchess,
graciously, "let us talk a few minutes about ourselves and other people."
Her suggestion being taken by silent consent, she asked Lady Wentworth
about Sir William's health and was graciously inquisitive concerning many
of her Ladyship's personal affairs, to her Ladyship's infinite delight.
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