CHAPTER VIII.
IN FEAR OF THE KING When Frances came downstairs, she and I started home, walking first down Gracious Street, and then through Upper Thames Street toward Temple Bar.
It was no time to scold her, since I was sure that she knew quite as well as I could tell her the folly and the recklessness of what she had just done.

I also believed there must have been an overpowering motive back of it all, and that being true, I knew that nothing I could say would in any way induce her to repent at present or forbear in future.

I might bring her to regret, but regret is a long journey from repentance.

If her heart had gone so far beyond her control as to cause her to seek Hamilton, as she had done that day, it were surely a profitless task for me to try to put her right.

If she, who was modest, honest, and strong, could not right herself, trying as I knew she had tried, no one else could do it for her.
Even my silence seemed to be a reproach, so I tried to think of something to say which would neither bear upon what she had done nor seem to avoid it.
After a moment or two, Betty, that is, thoughts of her, came to my relief, and I said: "If Betty were at court, she would rival the best of the beauties.