“Thank you, Master Hamilton,” answered Betty, laughing softly, and bringing her dimples and teeth into fine display.  With all her profound respect for the high rank of her lady guests, Betty’s smiles, while waiting on handsome George, were of a far rarer quality than those given to rank and station in the small dining room.  In Hamilton’s case, she could not suppress the smile nor restrain the soft laugh incident to her surprise.  The warm glow in her eyes and her murmured words of modest welcome came of their own accord, because she was kind of heart and as bewitching a bit of humanity as one could possibly want to caress.

At different times I had imagined that Betty was in love with Hamilton, and had suffered strange twinges of jealousy on account of my fear; twinges that surprised and angered me, for my heart had no business going astray after a barmaid.  She had always been kind to me, with a shy fluttering in her manner from which I should have taken comfort had she not been freer and easier with Hamilton.

Betty’s manner with me should have given me a hint of the way her heart was tending, even at that early time, but Hamilton was so much more likely to attract a woman than I, and his manner was so much more offhand and dashing than mine that I thought it impossible for such a girl as Betty to think twice of me while she might have been thinking of him.  But I was wrong, as will unfold later; wrong, greatly to my trouble and surprise.

I should be delighted if I could discover the standards whereby women measure men.  Ugly John Prigg is adored by a beautiful wife, from whom no other man can win a smile.  Stupid little Short possesses a tall rare Venus, and cadaverous Long a bewitching Hebe.  Bandy-legged Little Jermyn, of Whitehall, he of the “pop eyes” and the rickets head, he with neither manner, presence, brains, rank, nor money, save what he steals and begs, is beyond doubt the lady-killer of our court, so what are we to do about it all but wonder and “give it up”?

“While you have changed for the better, if at all,” said Hamilton, “I also have changed for the better, and sadly for the worse, in some respects.  There is a paradox for you, Betty.  I’m better and I’m worse.  Do you know what a paradox is”?

“I’m not sure, Master Hamilton.  Perhaps Lord Monmouth is one,” answered Betty, laughing, and coming so close to the truth that Hamilton concluded she knew the word.  “He has been coming here of late, and has been trying to make love to me.”

“And succeeding, Betty?” asked George.

“Ah, no.  I’ve stopped waiting on him.  He hasn’t money enough to buy the shadow of a smile from me, even though he is the king’s son.”

“I commend your discretion, Betty,” said George.  “But if Monmouth and his friends have been coming here, the Old Swan must be having rare company.”

“Yes,” returned Betty, with a touch of pride.  “A duchess and a princess are now taking dinner in the small dining room.  There!  You may hear the princess laughing now!  She is a merry one.”