As much as I liked Betty, I asked her to leave us, and when she was gone,
I drew my chair to George's bedside, leaving the dinner to cool.
"First, I want to tell you again," said I, "that Frances is not the king's mistress, nor ever will be."
"Do you know, or do you believe?" he asked.
"I know," I answered, and followed up my assertion with a full account of her life at court, the king's infatuation, at which she laughed, his offer of a pension, which at first she refused, the respect in which every one held her, and the wisdom with which she carried herself through it all.
"Ned, you're as great a fool about her as I was," he returned, shaking his head. "Do you suppose Charles Stuart would give her a pension with no other purpose than kindness or justice? Be sane! Don't be a fool!"
"I say nothing of his purposes; I speak only of her conduct. But I shall not argue with you. If you find any pleasure in your opinion, keep it," I answered, knowing that I could not reason with a man who was half crazy.
"I shall," he replied sullenly.
"But there is another matter in which I believe you will agree with me," I continued. "I have discovered the cause of my cousin's ill feeling—of her change respecting yourself."
He rose from his bed, demanding excitedly: "What is it? Tell me, tell me!"
"You have just told me that you and Churchill were walking at a considerable distance behind Crofts and the others when Roger Wentworth was killed."