"But one must keep up an appearance of virtue and must insist on being
kidnapped," said Frances, banteringly. "It not only enhances one's value,
but excuses one's fault. All these little subterfuges are necessary until
one reaches a point where one is both brazen and cheap."

Castlemain's life of shame at court had long ceased to be even a matter
of gossip, but at this time she was notoriously involved with one Jacob
Hall, a common rope dancer. Therefore my cousin's thrust went home.

"So you admit having been kidnapped?" asked Castlemain, with little
effort to conceal her vindictiveness.

"Sunday, say you?" asked Frances.

"Yes, Sunday noon, in the public streets, and Sunday night in a country
house," returned Castlemain.

"Let me see," said Frances, pausing for a moment to recall what she
had been doing at the time of the supposed kidnapping. Then turning
to the Duchess of York, who stood beside her, and who, she felt sure,
would catch the hint and help her out, she asked, "Were we not playing
at cards in your Grace's parlor Sunday afternoon?"

"Sunday afternoon?" repeated the duchess, quite willing to thwart
Castlemain's design. "Yes, my dear, Sunday afternoon. Yes, we began just
after dinner, and it was almost dark when we stopped. Don't you remember
I said, after we had lighted the candles, that I wished my husband could
afford to give me wax in place of tallow?"

We all laughed except the king, who became very much interested, and of