"It is not to be thought of one moment. Whitehall is a nest of infamy,
and the king, I am told, is the worst man in it. I gave all I had to his
martyred father, and now the son does not even so much as refuse to make
restitution. He simply gives lying promises and leaves me to starve. I am
surprised, nephew, that you come to us with this proposition."

"In that case, dear uncle, it shall be dropped at once," said I,
expecting, however, to take it up at another time.

Frances was about to insist, but a glance from Sarah stopped her, and she
remained silent. I knew it would require a great deal of sound argument
to bring Sir Richard to our way of thinking, but I was sure that Sarah
could soften him and that, at the right time, I could finish our helpless
antagonist. Meantime the love affair of Frances, if there was one, should
be looked into, if Frances did not object too seriously. In truth, I was
a very busy man, solely with the affairs of other people.

Being so engaged in telling of other people's affairs, I have not had
time to mention the fact that I had a love affair of my own, that is, if
I may call that a love affair which involved only one person--myself. She
who I hoped would one day be the party of the second part was Mary
Hamilton, sister to Count Anthony and George Hamilton, mention of whom
was made at the outset of this history.

I myself may have been lacking in morals, but at my worst I was a saint
compared to George Hamilton and his friends, Lord Berkeley, young
Wentworth, and the king's son, James Crofts, Duke of Monmouth. There was,
however, this difference between George and his friends: he was
gentlemanly picturesque in wickedness; they were nauseous in the