“Your lordship has danced to my fiddling before?” he gasped, in utter amazement.
“Danced!” gleefully cried Nell. “I have followed your bow through a thousand jigs. To the devil with these court-steps. I’m for a jig, jig, jig, jig, jig! Oh, I’m for a jig! Tune up, tune up, comrade; and we’ll have a touch of the old days at the King’s House.”
“The King’s House! Jigs!” exclaimed the fiddler, now beside himself.
“Jigs!” chuckled Nell. “Jigs are my line of business.”
Oranges, will you have my oranges?
Sweet as love-lips, dearest mine,
Picked by Spanish maids divine,–
The room had now quite cleared; and, protected by a friendly alcove, Nell punctuated the old song with a few happily turned jig-steps. Strings looked at her a moment in bewilderment: then his face grew warm with smiles; the mystery was explained.
“Mistress Nell, as I live,” he cried, joyously, “turned boy!”
“The devil fly away with you, you old idiot! Boy, indeed!” replied Nell, indignantly. “I’m a full-grown widower!”
She had removed her mask and was dancing about Strings gleefully.
There was the sound of returning voices.