“Vastly prettily spoken, Sir Godfrey; and with the air of a courtier, too; but, unlike t' other things of the Court, there is truth in your words. Look you, Kneller, there's the slut who calls herself Mistress Barry—she carries half the town away captive at her chariot-wheels—” she pointed to the portrait of Mrs. Barry. “But think you that her fascinations would have power to prevail against my lord the Duke? Nay, adamant is as snow compared to his demeanour when the wretch is moving all hearts within the playhouse. Have not I found him sitting with closed eyes while the woman was flaunting it about the stage, and men's swords were ready to fly from their scabbards at the throats of them that had got a soft look from her?”
“Is 't possible?”
“Ay, sir; 't is more than possible. The insolent hussy has oft cast up her eyes at our box in the playhouse, ogling His Grace, if you please. The fool little knew that she was ogling a slumbering man. Nay, Sir Godfrey, if I were as sure of my ground in other directions as I am of His Grace, I were a happy woman.”
She took her place on the dais, and the expression of pensiveness which appears on the face of the portrait became intensified. This fact, however, did not prevent a dainty little fist from quivering in her direction from the side of the full-length picture in the corner. The Duchess had her back turned to that particular corner.
“Your Grace deserves to be the happiest of women,” said the painter.
“If only to give so admirable a limner an opportunity of depicting a smiling face,” said the Duchess.
“Nay, madam, a smile doth not make a picture,” replied Sir Godfrey. “On the contrary, it oft destroys one. Your painter of smirking goddesses finds his vocation at the Fair of St. Bartolemy. I would fain hope that I am not such.” There was a silence, during which Sir Godfrey painted the hair upon his canvas with his usual dexterity. Then Her Grace sighed.
“Know you the best means of bringing back an errant confidence, Sir Godfrey?” she asked after another long pause.
“An errant confidence, madam?”
“The confidence of one whom I love, and who I think would fain love me still, were it not for the tongue of slander.”