“A man of you only to-day!” cried the Duchess, in wonderment.
“He assured me, madame,” Nell hastened to explain, “that the fashion makes the man. He did not like my former fashion. It hid too much that was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great Duchess of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty.”
She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed hat, as she offered the letter.
“Oh, you are the gentleman,” said Portsmouth, recalling her request to Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the letter and broke the seal eagerly.
“She does not suspect,” thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that she might see the King.
Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.
“From Rochet! Dear Rochet!” mused the Duchess, as she read aloud the lines: “‘The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and very little versed in the sins of court.’”
“Very little,” muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon the whereabouts and doings of the King.
“‘He is of excellent birth,’” continued the Duchess, reading, “‘brave, young and to be trusted–to be trusted. I commend him to your kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.’”
She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly. Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.