Hart’s lips trembled, but he controlled his passion. “Indeed? His Majesty and the good folk in front would doubtless gladly await your interview with Mistress Eleanor Gwyn. Shall I announce your will, my lord, unto his Majesty and stop the play?”
“You grow ironical, friend Hart,” replied his lordship.
“Not so,” said the actor, bowing low; “I am your lordship’s most obedient servant.”
Buckingham’s lip curled and his eyes revealed that he would have said more, but the room was meantime filling with players from the stage, some exchanging compliments, some strutting before the glass, and he would not so degrade his dignity before them. Dick, foil in hand even in the manager’s room, was testing the steel’s strength to his utmost, in boyish fashion.
This confusion lent Moll courage, and forth came again the cry: “Oranges? Will you have my oranges? Only sixpence, sir.”
She boldly offered her wares to Almanzor, but started and paled when the hero turned and revealed Manager Hart.
“What are you doing here, you little imp? Back to the pit, where you belong.” The manager’s voice was full of meaning.
“Nell told me I might come here, sir,” said the girl, faintly excusing herself.
Hart’s temper got the better of him. To admit before all that Nell ruled the theatre was an affront to his managerial dignity which he could not brook.
“Oh, Nell did, did she?” he almost shrieked, as he angrily paced the room like some caged beast, gesticulating wildly.