"Ah, I thank you—Frances," answered Nelly, hesitating at the name.
"Let us seal a pact of friendship," said Frances. "We shall need each other's help in this vile court that takes its quality from its king."
"Yes, truly he is vile," returned Nelly. "But women of my class, born and bred in the slums of life, do not measure a man by his virtues, but by their love of him. I know not how it is, nor why, but this I know, we love because of what we give, and the more we give, the more we love."
"I fear the same is true of all women," answered Frances, with a sigh. "If a woman could but say to her heart, 'Thou shalt' and 'Thou shalt not,' there would be fewer unhappy women in this world."
"Oh, do you, too, know that awful truth?" exclaimed Nelly, eagerly bringing her hands to Frances's shoulders. "Tell me all about it. There is nothing sweeter than to hear the troubles of a friend. They help to make our own seem smaller. Tell me."
"I cannot," answered Frances, now as woebegone as Nelly herself. "It is too terrible even to think upon, yet I think of nothing else. A woman may love a man to the point of madness and still hate him."
"But it is not the king you love?" cried Nelly, in alarm.
"No, no, Nelly. You have my word. But let us talk of something else," answered Frances.
"No, no, let us talk about you," insisted Nelly, whose curiosity was equalled only by her good nature.
"Not another word," returned Frances. "Don't you want to go to the barge for a ride on the river?" And Nelly eagerly assented.