"
At that moment Betty came in, followed by one of the maids carrying our
dinner. I asked George to eat with me, but he refused and lay down on the
bed, drawing the rugs up to his chin and shaking in an ague. The maid
left us, but Betty remained, evidently expecting to wait on us and
incidentally to talk, for she dearly loved to relieve her mind.
As much as I liked Betty, I asked her to leave us, and when she was gone,
I drew my chair to George's bedside, leaving the dinner to cool.
"First, I want to tell you again," said I, "that Frances is not the
king's mistress, nor ever will be."
"Do you know, or do you believe?" he asked.
"I know," I answered, and followed up my assertion with a full account of
her life at court, the king's infatuation, at which she laughed, his
offer of a pension, which at first she refused, the respect in which
every one held her, and the wisdom with which she carried herself through
it all.
"Ned, you're as great a fool about her as I was," he returned, shaking
his head. "Do you suppose Charles Stuart would give her a pension with no
other purpose than kindness or justice? Be sane! Don't be a fool!"
"I say nothing of his purposes; I speak only of her conduct. But I shall
not argue with you. If you find any pleasure in your opinion, keep it," I
answered, knowing that I could not reason with a man who was half crazy.
"I shall," he replied sullenly.
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