Roger was only a tanner; therefore after a deal of stir in the matter of his death with no result more tangible than vague insinuations from Crofts and his friends, the investigation by the London authorities was dropped, at least for a time.  Roger’s tragedy was forgotten or was put aside, save in so far as it was kept alive by Crofts, who felt that it was well to keep the person of George Hamilton as a fender between himself and the crime.

So, as frequently happens when a bad man turns good, Hamilton’s troubles began to gather and were awaiting his return.  I did not know where he was (though I afterwards learned he was in Paris), and therefore was unable to warn him.  In fact, I knew little that was worth telling him at the time of which I am writing, since I did not believe he was really in danger.  I did not even know that he was aware of the Roger Wentworth tragedy.

Meantime Frances was making progress at court, of which even I, with all my hopefulness, had little dreamed.  What she desired above all else was money for her father.  Sir Richard and Sarah had moved up to London to be near Frances and were living in a modest little house at the end of a cul-de-sac called Temple Street, just off the Strand near Temple Bar.

The opportunity to get money soon came to Frances in the form of an offer by the king of a small pension which would have placed her and her father beyond the pale of want.  But the king’s manner in offering it had caused her to refuse.

She had fallen into the wholesome way of telling me all that occurred touching herself, which during this time consisted chiefly of the efforts of nearly every man of prominence in Whitehall, from the king and the duke to bandylegged Little Jermyn, the lady-killer, to convince her of his desperate passion.  She laughed at them all, and her indifference seemed to increase their ardor.

One day Frances met me in the Stone Gallery as I was coming from my lodging in the Wardrobe over the Gate, and asked me to walk out with her.  I saw that something untoward had happened, so I joined her and we went to the park.  When we were a short way from the palace, she told me of the king’s offer and tried to tell me of his manner, the latter evidently having been meant to be understood by Frances in case she wished to see it as he doubtless intended she should.  She saw it as the king intended, but the result was far from what he expected.

“I turned my back on him,” she said angrily, “and left him without so much as a word or a courtesy, and I intend to leave Whitehall.”

“By no means!” I exclaimed.  “Accept or refuse the king’s pension as you choose, and pass serenely on your way, unconscious of what he may have implied.  If you remain at court, you must learn not to see a mere implied affront, and perhaps to smile at many an overt one.  Before you came you had full warning of what would happen.  Don’t see!  Don’t feel!  Don’t care!  Be true to yourself and smile at the devil if you happen to meet him.  He has no weapon against a smile.  One escapes many a disagreeable situation by not seeing it, and one always finds trouble by looking for it.”