What she desired above all else was money for her father.

Sir Richard and Sarah had moved up to London to be near Frances and were living in a modest little house at the end of a cul-de-sac called Temple Street, just off the Strand near Temple Bar.
The opportunity to get money soon came to Frances in the form of an offer by the king of a small pension which would have placed her and her father beyond the pale of want.

But the king's manner in offering it had caused her to refuse.
She had fallen into the wholesome way of telling me all that occurred touching herself, which during this time consisted chiefly of the efforts of nearly every man of prominence in Whitehall, from the king and the duke to bandylegged Little Jermyn, the lady-killer, to convince her of his desperate passion.

She laughed at them all, and her indifference seemed to increase their ardor.
One day Frances met me in the Stone Gallery as I was coming from my lodging in the Wardrobe over the Gate, and asked me to walk out with her.
I saw that something untoward had happened, so I joined her and we went to the park.

When we were a short way from the palace, she told me of the king's offer and tried to tell me of his manner, the latter evidently having been meant to be understood by Frances in case she wished to see it as he doubtless intended she should.