"Yes.
At least, he says he is. What does your Majesty advise? Shall I marry him
or not?"
"By all means, not!" returned the king, with strong emphasis. "He would
take you from court. Do you return his love?"
"Well--" answered Frances, drooping her head and pausing to allow the
king to fill the blank.
"But you shall not marry him," insisted the king.
"But you would not have me live a maid? Think of the humiliation of
having graven on my tombstone: 'Mistress Frances Jennings, Age 85.' I'm
going to marry the richest man that asks me."
"Odds fish! that's Tyrconnel!" exclaimed the king.
"I'll find a pretext for sending him to the Tower at once."
"If you do," returned Frances, laughing, "there is Little Jermyn. He will
be rich and an earl when his uncle dies."
"I'll send him along with Tyrconnel," declared the king.
"And there is--" began Frances, laughing.
But the king interrupted her, "I'll send every man to the Tower that
wants to marry you, if I depopulate the court."
"But here comes old Lady Castlemain," said Frances, turning to leave the
king. "I can't quarrel with her, because I can't swear with her. May I
take my leave, your Majesty?"
"I am sorry to grant it, but good-by," returned the king.
"Good-by, your Majesty, and thank you," returned Frances, grateful for
much that the king did not know he had told her. Then she came to me and
told me what the king had said, not omitting her conclusions based on
what he had left unsaid.
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