Even if I had not been plighted to Mary Hamilton, I could not have asked Betty to be my wife.  She would not be happy in my sphere of life, and I could not live in hers.  The painful knowledge of this truth did not in any way help me to put her out of my thoughts, but rather made my longing for her all the greater.  Since I had learned to know her well, I thought I meant honestly by her.  Still she was a barmaid, and I could not always bring myself to respect her as she deserved.  Time and again I resolved in all sincerity never to see her again.  Since I could not marry her, I would gain nothing but unhappiness myself and perhaps misery for her by continuing my suit.

But when back in London, I persuaded myself that it was my duty to see George, and tried to shut my eyes to the fact that Betty was the real cause of my anxiety.

When I reached the Old Swan, I soon found Betty, and there could be no mistake in my reading of the light I saw in her eyes.

After talking with her a minute or two in the tap-room, I asked her to tell me of Hamilton, and she said hesitatingly that he had left the inn nearly two months ago.

“Do you know where he is?” I asked.

She answered hesitatingly, “N-o-o-o.”

I saw that she did not want to be questioned, so I remained chatting with her for an hour, and returned to Whitehall, very proud that I had restrained my tongue during the interview.

* * * * *

On the afternoon following my interview with Betty, I was sitting in my room adjoining my Lord’s private closet in the Wardrobe, trying in vain to think of something besides Betty, when I heard a peal of merry laughter, which I recognized as Nelly Gwynn’s.  Immediately following, I heard the deep, unmistakable voice of the king.  They had just entered my Lord’s private closet, between which and my room there was a loosely hung door, permitting me to hear all that was said.

“Ah, Rowley,” said Nell.  “You have been away from me a long weary time, and I know you have forgotten me.”

The king denied the charge, and doubtless took his own way to convince her.

“While you have been away, I have found a new friend to console me,” said Nelly.

“Ah!” exclaimed the king, with suddenly awakened interest.

“Yes,” returned Nelly.

“Is your new friend a man or a woman?” asked Charles.

“A woman, of course, oh, jealous heart!  You know there is but one man in the world for me—­your ugly self.”

“Who is your friend?” asked the king.

“I’ll give you three guesses.  You admire her greatly,” said Nelly.

“Indeed, it must be the Bishop of Canterbury’s lady,” suggested his Majesty.

“Surely!” exclaimed Nell, with a merry laugh.  “But guess again.”

When the king had exhausted his three guesses, she said triumphantly, “My new friend’s name is Frances Jennings.”