Rupert's Cousin, Rosamond Allington, is our Guest. She is as beautiful as ... not as an Angel, for she lacks the Look of Goodness, but very beautiful indeed. She cometh hither from Hever Castle, her Account of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress Anne is not there at present; indeed, she is now always hanging about Court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to Solomon's Spouse—to forget her Father's House. The King likes well enow to be compared with Solomon, but Mistress Anne is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flattery and Frenchified Habitts have spoilt her, I trow.
"She cometh hither from Hever Castle."
Rosamond says there is not a good Chamber in the Castle; even the Ball-room, which is on the upper Floor of alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy Day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne were playing at Shuttlecock therein, when Rosamond's Foot tripped at some Unevennesse in the Floor, and Mistress Anne, with a Laugh, cried out, "Mind you goe not down into the Dungeon"—then pulled up a Trap-door in the Ball-room Floor, by an iron Ring, and made Rosamond look down into an unknown Depth; all in the blacknesse of Darkness. 'Tis an awfulle Thing to have onlie a Step from a Ball-room to a Dungeon! I'm glad we live in a modern House; we have noe such fearsome Sights here.
Sept. 26.
How many, many Tears have I shed! Poor, imprudent Will.
To think of his Escape from the Cardinall's Fangs, and yet that he will probablie repeat the Offence! This Morning Father and he had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless Debate in the Garden; on returning from which, Father took me aside and sayd,—