“Yes, you won’t know yourself when your character comes back to you, filtered through many mouths,” said the duchess, laughing.  “But don’t take offence; retaliate!”

“My cousin will have to learn the art, your Grace,” I suggested.

“Ah, I have a thought!” cried the duchess, turning to Frances.  “Nothing succeeds like novelty here at court.  Be novel.  Don’t abuse people save to their faces, but don’t spare any one then.  Remember that a biting epigram is the best loved form of wit among us Sodomites.  We love it for its own sake, but more for the pain it gives the other fellow.  We like to see him squirm, and we have many a joyous hour over our friends’ misfortunes.  Turn yourself into a mental bodkin, and you will find favor among us, for it is better to be feared than loved in our happy family.”

“Ah, how beautiful!” cried Lady Wentworth, determined to be heard, even though never addressed.

“But as I have said,” continued the duchess, “try, if you can, to be novel, and be a bodkin only to the victim’s face, save, of course, in the case of a new bit of racy scandal.  That must be used to the greatest advantage as soon as possible, for scandal, like unsalted butter, will not keep.”

The duchess laughed, as though speaking in jest, but she was in earnest and spoke the truth.

“But I must learn the current faults of my friends-to-be,” suggested Frances, laughing, “so that I may not fall into the unpardonable error of repeating an old story.  Stale scandal is doubtless an offence in the ear of the Anointed.”

The Anointed was the king.

“That is true,” returned the duchess, seriously.  “Old scandals bore him, but if, by good fortune, a rich new bit comes your way, save it for our Rowley, whisper it in his ear and forget it.  Leave to him the pleasure of disseminating it.  He dearly loves the ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ of delight incident to the telling of a racy tale.  But I’ll take you in hand one of these days and tell you how best to please the king, though your beauty will make all other means mere surplusage.  To please the king, you need but be yourself; to please my husband, the duke, is even an easier task.  He is everybody’s friend.  They will be wanting to divorce the queen and me for your sake.  Two such fools about pretty women the world has never known before and I hope never will again.  To see the two royal brothers ogling and smiling and smirking is better than a play.  I used to be disgusted, but now it amuses me.  So if my husband makes love to you, don’t fear that I shall be offended, and if the king makes love to you, as he surely will, have no fear of the queen.  She is used to it.”

“I shall try to please every one,” said Frances.

“No, no, no!” cried the duchess.  “That would be your ruin!  A dog licks the hand that smites it.  We’re all dogs.  Every failure I have known at court has come from too great a desire to please.”