One evening at the queen’s ball, my Lady Castlemain, a very cat of a woman, came up to a group consisting of the king, the duchess, Frances, myself, and three or four others who were standing near the king’s chair.  Elbowing her way to the king, near whom Frances was standing, Lady Castlemain said:—­

“Ah, la Belle Jennings, tell us of your adventure Sunday night!”

“Of what adventure, la Belle Castlemain?” asked Frances, smiling sweetly.

“Why, when you were kidnapped and carried to a country house for the night,” returned Castlemain, with a vindictive gleam in her eyes and an angry toss of her head.

“I kidnapped Sunday night?” asked Frances, in well-feigned surprise.  “No such romantic adventure has befallen me.”

“Yes, kidnapped Sunday night,” returned Castlemain, showing her teeth.  “Of course you were kidnapped!  I’m sure nothing would induce so modest a lady as the fair Jennings to go of her own free will.  She would insist on being taken by force.  Ha! ha!  Force!”

She laughed as though speaking in jest, but her real intent was plain to every one that heard her.  Frances, too, laughed so merrily that one might have supposed she considered it all a joke, and her acting was far better than Castlemain’s.

“But one must keep up an appearance of virtue and must insist on being kidnapped,” said Frances, banteringly.  “It not only enhances one’s value, but excuses one’s fault.  All these little subterfuges are necessary until one reaches a point where one is both brazen and cheap.”

Castlemain’s life of shame at court had long ceased to be even a matter of gossip, but at this time she was notoriously involved with one Jacob Hall, a common rope dancer.  Therefore my cousin’s thrust went home.

“So you admit having been kidnapped?” asked Castlemain, with little effort to conceal her vindictiveness.

“Sunday, say you?” asked Frances.

“Yes, Sunday noon, in the public streets, and Sunday night in a country house,” returned Castlemain.

“Let me see,” said Frances, pausing for a moment to recall what she had been doing at the time of the supposed kidnapping.  Then turning to the Duchess of York, who stood beside her, and who, she felt sure, would catch the hint and help her out, she asked, “Were we not playing at cards in your Grace’s parlor Sunday afternoon?”

“Sunday afternoon?” repeated the duchess, quite willing to thwart Castlemain’s design.  “Yes, my dear, Sunday afternoon.  Yes, we began just after dinner, and it was almost dark when we stopped.  Don’t you remember I said, after we had lighted the candles, that I wished my husband could afford to give me wax in place of tallow?”

We all laughed except the king, who became very much interested, and of course, excepting Castlemain, who was rapidly losing her head in anger.

After the duchess had spoken, the king asked, with as careless an air as he could assume:—­