“It does seem that we are guilty of treason to our country in thus helping France,” she said.  Then laughingly, “But I’ll go back to the palace at once and begin my task of wheedling the king.”  She paused for a moment, then continued hesitatingly, “Do you suppose it possible that George would doubt me afterwards?”

“Impossible,” I answered, with emphasis that seemed to reassure her.

“I am doing it for him,” she continued with a sigh.  “God knows I would do almost anything in the same cause.  But I do not know men, and I fear it is possible that he will doubt me after I have succeeded.  Let us go to see Betty.  She is restful to me, and always soothes my nerves.  But besides, I want to have her help.  I’ll introduce her to the king—­”

“No, by God, you’ll not introduce her to the king!  I’ll explode the whole affair, and Dunkirk may go to the devil before you shall introduce Betty to the king,” I answered.

“Yet you are willing that I should meddle in the dangerous affair?  Evidently you love her more than you love me?”

“Only a few hundred million times more,” I answered sullenly.

“Is it that way with you, my dear brother?” she asked, coming to me as I stood gazing out the window, seeing nothing save Bettina’s face.  Frances put her hand on my shoulder and said coaxingly:  “Forgive me.  No harm shall come to her through me.”

Of course I was sorry that I had allowed myself to become angry, and at once made my apology as well as I could.

“Let us go to see Betty, anyway,” said Frances.  And I assenting, she went to fetch her cloak, hat, and vizard.

But when she returned, I had changed my mind and declined to go, telling Frances that I must see Bettina no more.

“Why?” asked Frances.

“Because I would not win a love from her which I cannot accept.”

“Baron Ned, there are few men who would be so considerate.”

But I required little coaxing, and when Frances had made ready for the journey, I buckled on my sword, which I had left standing in the corner, took my hat from the floor, and started out with her.

While walking from the Bridge to the Old Swan, I remarked to Frances, “My engagement with Mary Hamilton is likely to be broken by her family.”

“Why, Baron Ned?” she asked in surprise.

“Count Hamilton has challenged me to a duel, to be fought when he returns, and you see, if I kill him or if he kills me, well—­” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

She was much alarmed at my disclosure, but was reassured when I made light of the affair, probably because there was no danger in it to George Hamilton, and, perhaps, because if I should kill Count Hamilton, George would inherit the title and estates.

“But poor Mary!  She will grieve,” said Frances.

“I think you need waste no tears for her sake,” I answered.  “She is a fine, pretty little creature, who will take what comes her way without excess of pain or joy.  She is incapable of feeling keenly.  God has been good to her in giving her numbness.”