“I would not think of sitting in your Grace’s presence,” answered Betty, courtesying respectfully.

“Sit down, Betty, please, and let us be friends,” said Frances, coaxingly.  “I am not a duchess.  I am only a girl like yourself.  My name is Mistress Jennings—­Frances.  Nelly Gwynn was jesting when she spoke of me as a duchess, and only wanted to tease you when she objected to the table linen.  She is good and kind—­no one can be more so.”

“Yes,” returned Betty.  “She came back and said that the linen was beautiful and offered me money for myself, but I refused.  You see I am not—­well, I am not a servant.  But afterward she gave me a hundred jacobusses for the poor, and I thanked her.  I am very sorry that I was angry the day of the fight, but you know the great persons who come here from Whitehall are very irritating, and treat us all with contempt.”

“I am not a great lady, Betty, though I live at court.  I am poor and very far from happy.  I am not so good as you, Betty, I’m sure, though I do the best I can not to be bad.”

“Oh, you are too beautiful not to be good,” returned Betty, warming up to my cousin.

“Whether I am beautiful or not I care little, for I am in great trouble and have come to you for help,” said Frances.  “My cousin, Baron Clyde, who is as dear to me as a brother, is full of your praises, and only the other day said that there was no woman or girl in England purer or better than you, and that he knew none in the world whom he deemed more beautiful.”

The red came to Betty’s cheeks, and she answered, smiling and dimpling:  “Ah, did he say that of me?  I deem him my very good friend indeed.  Is he really your cousin?”

“Yes, he is more a brother than a cousin,” returned Frances.

Immediately Betty softened and, drawing a chair close to Frances’s side, sat down.  After a long pause, she murmured:  “Then if I may, I, too, would be your friend.”

“I knew you would,” answered Frances.  “Now give me your hand, so that we may feel as well as see and hear each other.  Ah, Betty, how soft and warm your hand is.  I don’t wonder that my cousin praises you.  You have won me already, and I hope we may always be good friends.”

“I shall be glad,” murmured Betty, pressing Frances’s hand, assuringly.  “You say you are in trouble.  In what way may I help you?”

Frances began, “You know Master Hamilton—­Master George Hamilton?”

“Yes,” answered Betty.

“And you would be glad to help me save him from great peril?” asked Frances.

“Yes, Mistress Jennings.  He, too, is my friend and a good man.”

“Yes, yes, tell me, Betty.  Good, say you?  I had not supposed him good, but—­”

“If you supposed otherwise, you were wrong,” returned Betty, straightening up in her chair, ready to do battle for her friend.

“Yes, yes, tell me, please, Betty, why you deem him good,” pleaded Frances, eager to be convinced.  “What has he done or left undone?”