"By all means, not!" returned the king, with strong emphasis. "He would take you from court. Do you return his love?"
"Well—" answered Frances, drooping her head and pausing to allow the king to fill the blank.
"But you shall not marry him," insisted the king.
"But you would not have me live a maid? Think of the humiliation of having graven on my tombstone: 'Mistress Frances Jennings, Age 85.' I'm going to marry the richest man that asks me."
"Odds fish! that's Tyrconnel!" exclaimed the king.
"I'll find a pretext for sending him to the Tower at once."
"If you do," returned Frances, laughing, "there is Little Jermyn. He will be rich and an earl when his uncle dies."
"I'll send him along with Tyrconnel," declared the king.
"And there is—" began Frances, laughing.
But the king interrupted her, "I'll send every man to the Tower that wants to marry you, if I depopulate the court."