She pointed to the ring.
He glanced at it as though he regretted it had been seen, then added carelessly, apparently to appease but really to whet the Duchess’s curiosity:
“Merely a ring the King gave Nell.”
There was more than curiosity now in Portsmouth’s eyes.
“I borrowed it to show it you,” continued Buckingham, indifferently, then asked, with tantalizing calmness: “Is your mission quite complete?”
With difficulty, the Duchess mastered herself. Without replying, she walked slowly toward the table, in troubled thought. The mask of crime revealed itself in her beautiful features, as she said, half to herself:
“I have a potion I brought from France.”
She was of the Latin race and poison was a heritage.
Buckingham caught the words not meant for him, and realized too well their sinister meaning. Poison Nell! His eyes swept the room fearfully and he shuddered. He hastened to Portsmouth’s side, and in cold whispers importuned her:
“For Heaven’s mercy, woman, as you love yourself and me–poison is an unhealthy diet to administer in England.”