She led him past Sir Charles Sedley, without so much as glancing at the courtier, and the newcomer had no eyes for anyone save Nell. A servant threw open the door of the room where she had been with her mother, and the two entered.
Sir Charles took snuff elaborately, after he had replaced his hat on his head.
“If his Majesty should arrive, let him know that I am in the long parlour,” he said to a servant, as he walked toward a door on the left.
He paused for a space with his hand on the handle of the door, for there came from the room into which Nell Gwyn and Dick Harraden had gone a loud peal of laugh ter—not a solo, but a duet.
He turned the handle.
So soon as he had disappeared, there came another ripple of laughter from the other room, and the lacqueys lounging in the hall laughed, too. Within the room, Nell was seated on the settee and Dick Harraden by her side. She had just reminded him of the gift of the worsted stockings which he had made to her, when he was a link-boy, and she an orange-girl in Drury Lane. They had both laughed when she had pushed out a little dainty shoe from beneath her gown, displaying at the same time a tolerably liberal amount of silk stocking, as she said:
“Ah, Dick, it 's not in worsted my toes are clad now. I have outgrown your stockings.”