“Well,” stammered Nell, in awkward hesitation but in the richest brogue, as the Duchess repeated her inquiry, “I’m just I, madame.”
The Duchess smiled despite herself.
“You’re just you,” she said. “That’s very clear.”
“Yes, that’s very clear,” reiterated Nell, still fearful of her ground.
“A modest masker, possibly,” suggested Portsmouth, observing the youth’s embarrassment and wishing to assist him.
“Yea, very modest,” replied Nell, her speech still stumbling, “almost ashamed.”
Portsmouth’s eyes looked sharply at her.
“She suspects me,” thought Nell, and her heart leaped into her throat. “I am lost–boots and all.”
“Your name?” demanded the Duchess again, impatiently.
For the life of her Nell could not think of it.