less is and always
has been populated by maniacs, and I pray God always will be. I pray you,
remember, in judging me, that you are you and that I am but a woman
by whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love;
her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight more
in the love she gives than in that which she receives. Remember, also,
that in this letter I must condense when I might easily be prolix, and
that after all is written, probably I shall have left unsaid the very
thing I most wished to say. But these three words will tell it all and
bear repeating: I love you.

"FRANCES."

And this from my sensible cousin! What would it be if her heart were not
balanced by a wise head?

Our letters being written, I became alarmed about posting them in London,
not knowing when a messenger would start for France, nor who he would be.
The next day Frances and I talked it over, and she suggested that as the
king and most of the court were about to visit Bath for a season, and as
neither she nor I cared to go, we should take the letters to Dover, cross
to Calais, and post them in France.

I sprang at the idea, but immediately sprang back, saying: "But it is not
entirely proper for us to travel to Calais together, even though you are
my sister-cousin."

"We may take father," she suggested. "Sarah wants to visit Lady St.
Albans, and she can go if we take father with us. And, Baron Ned; I have
another suggestion to offer. Let us take Bettina."

I sprang at that proposal and did not spring back. So we went first to my
uncle, who said he would go with us, and then we went to see Bettina. She
had recovered from her sprains and bruises, although she was still pale
and not quite strong.

When Frances asked her to go with us, she answered, "Ay, gladly, if
father consents."

Pickering, who was sitting with us at the time in Bettina's cozy parlor,
turned to me, laughing, and said:--

"You would suppose, from Betty's remark, that I am master here, but the
truth is my soul is not my own, and now her modest request for permission
is made for effect on the company."

Betty ran to her father, sat on his knee, twined her arm about his neck,
and kissed him as a protest against the unjust insinuation.

"You see how she does it," said Pickering. "No hammer and tongs for
Betty; just oil and honey."

"And lots and lots of love, father," interrupted Betty.

* * * *