To be bidden to my Lady Fanny’s house and stay away was unthinkable. Had she proposed to present to them Messalina, Aspasia and other celebrated demireps, they could not for the life of them stay away, and knew it. No, not even if Miss Sally Salisbury herself had met them at the door. And here also the girl’s character spoke for her—all loved the charming Polly, her voice of silver, her obliging and modest behaviour. “One could not in a general way condone such things, ’tis true,” say the ladies, “but this is an exception that makes no rule. It cannot so happen again. She is a good girl, and his Grace much to be pitied.” So the talk buzzed in corners, and at the card-tables where the game was scarce heeded, and about the Duchess. But with no dissentient, for none dared raise her voice, ’twas virtually agreed that the Duchess could do no wrong and if she vouched for Mrs. Fenton, Mrs. Fenton was endurable. Besides this was certainly better than a misalliance, take it how you will! Dr. Swift drew up to her when the way was clear. “Your Grace hath courage,” says he, “yet not so much as they grant you, for had you thrust a Wapping wench on them they had kissed your hand and taken her. You can’t however expect the blessing of the Church on your enterprise.” “I never did!”—says the Duchess with one of her tosses. “I asked Dr. Swift’s blessing that reads human nature like a book. And I think to have it, though not perhaps in public.” “I don’t withhold it. On conditions, however. You are not to make such alliances general, Madam; I confine you to one. Or in default, I condemn you to give the example yourself and set up house with Sir Robert Walpole, the Queen’s consent granted.” She laughed her clear hearty laugh. “I promise, Doctor, I promise. And, in return—no sly allusions to my pretty bird and her man. And if any lampooner thrust at them from some dark corner I require that you pierce him to the heart with an epigram so pointed and terrible as Jove’s own thunderbolt is not so sure.” Sudden she changed her tone and spoke low that none might hear. “Dr. Swift, the world that is all lies, says that you have no heart. I know better. For the sake of one I loved and honoured, be good to my poor young girl.” A terrible spasm crossed his face. Of all her daring this was the greatest, for ’twas the year before this that Stella died, and all his joy with her. He did but look in her eyes and turn away, but she had won him—she knew it. Mr. Pope later in the evening waylaid her. “Madam, what is there your Grace cannot accomplish! You have made adultery a sentiment as well as a fashion. The ladies of London should tear you in pieces as the Mœnads did a far less offender, for there is not an erring husband but will run to Queensbury House to ask the Duchess’s protection. You shoulder a heavy responsibility. Here’s an opening for epigram!”