“You see,” she replied evasively, “I’m in London for the first time in my present self, madame, and–”
“Your name and mission, sir?” The tone was imperative.
Nell’s wits returned to her.
“Beau Adair is my name,” she stammered, “and your service my mission.”
It was out, though it had like to have choked her, and Nell was more herself again. The worst she had feared was that the Duchess might discover her identity and so turn the tables and make her the laughing-stock at court. She grew, indeed, quite hopeful as she observed a kindly smile play upon the Duchess’s lips and caught the observation: “Beau Adair! A pretty name, and quite a pretty fellow.”
A smile of self-satisfaction and a low bow were Nell’s reply.
“Vain coxcomb!” cried Portsmouth, reprovingly, though she was highly amused and even pleased with the strange youth’s conceit.
“Nay; if I admire not myself,” wistfully suggested Nell, in reply, with pretence of much modesty, “who will praise poor me in this great palace?”
“You are new at court?” asked Portsmouth, doubtingly.
“Quite new,” asserted Nell, gaining confidence with each speech. “My London tailor made a man of me only to-day.”