The following day Frances asked and received permission from the duchess to spend the day with Sir Richard.  I offered to accompany her, but she refused so emphatically that I suspected there was a purpose in her mind over and above a mere visit to her father’s house.

I remember well the day.  It was near the hour of ten when I saw her leave the palace by the garden door.  She wore a long dark cloak, a small bonnet, and a full vizard which covered her entire face.  I had never known her to wear so large a vizard, as she detested even small ones, and wore them only out of respect for the prevailing fashion.  She hastened toward the King Street Gate, and I, following at a short distance, saw her take boat at the Charing Cross stairs.

After thinking over the situation, I determined to go to my uncle’s house.  As I had suspected, Frances was not there.  After greeting Sir Richard and Sarah, I asked them, as though speaking by the way, when they had seen Frances.

“She hasn’t been home for a week or more,” answered Sir Richard.

“I wish she would make haste in choosing a husband, or in wheedling one to choose her,” remarked Sarah.  “I’ll beat her in the race if she doesn’t.  If I should, I might furnish a new saw to the world:  ’The suitor is not always to the beautiful, nor the husband to the soft of tongue.’  I have a gallant.”

“So I have suspected of late,” I answered.

“Yes, you’re right—­John Churchill,” answered Sarah.

“He is a fine man,” I returned.

“Yes,” replied Sarah, apparently very serious, though there was a twinkle in her eye.  “But I’m not sure of him yet.”  Then with a sigh:  “I would that I were.  If he knows what is for his own good, he’ll speak soon, as I intend to make a duke of him before he dies, and the sooner we get at it the better.  A sensible conscience, prepense to its own interest, a good courtier, and a shrewd wife have made many a duke of far poorer material than my John.”

I laughed, and Sir Richard smiled, but we each seemed to feel that Sarah’s words were prophetic, and the future bore us out, as all the world knows.

After waiting in my uncle’s parlor an hour or more, hoping that Frances would arrive, I took my leave and walked down to the Old Swan, where I found her.  What happened there I learned afterward from her and from others—­that is, what I did not see for myself.

After leaving Whitehall, Frances had made her way directly to the Old Swan, where she soon found Betty.  At first the girl did not seem inclined to be at all cordial, but when Frances told her that she was in trouble and wanted help, Betty’s kind heart responded at once.  “Trouble” was the password to Betty’s good graces.

“Let us go to a room where we may be by ourselves,” suggested Frances.  “I want to talk to you freely where we shall not be overheard.”

Betty led the way to her own little parlor on the second floor and placed a chair for her guest near a window opening on the court.  Frances sat down and asked Betty, who evidently intended to remain standing, to bring a chair and sit beside her.