The Duchess broke into a merry laugh. The youth had captured her, with his wistful, Irish eyes, his brogue and his roguish ways.
“We give a ball to-night,” she said, gaily. “You shall stay and see the King.”
“The King!” cried Nell, feigning fright. “I should tremble so to see the King.”
“You need not fear,” laughed the hostess. “He will not know you.”
“I trust not, truly,” sighed Nell, with much meaning, as she scanned her scanty masculine attire.
“Take my mask,” said the Duchess, graciously. “As hostess, I cannot wear it.”
Nell seized it eagerly. She would be safe with this little band of black across her eyes. Even the King would not know her.
“I shall feel more comfortable behind this,” she said, naïvely.
“Did you ever mask?” inquired Portsmouth, gaily.
“Nay, I am too honest to deceive,” answered Nell; and her eyes grew so round and so big, who would not believe her?