Nell’s whole heart went out to the subject of the controversy. Poor little tattered Orange Moll! She was carried back in an instant to her own bitter life and bitter struggles when an orange-girl. Throwing an arm about the child, she kissed away the tears with, “What is the matter, dear Moll?”
“They are all mocking me, and sent me back to the pit,” replied the girl, hysterically.
“Shame on you all,” said Nell; and the eyes that were so full of comedy revealed tragic fire.
“Fy, fy,” pleaded Hart; “I’ll be charitable to-morrow, Nell, after this strain is off–but a first night–”
“You need charity yourself?” suggested Nell; and she burst into a merry laugh, in which many joined.
Buckingham instantly took up the gauntlet for a bold play, for a coup d’état in flattery. “Pshaw!” he cried, waving aside the players in a princely fashion. “When Nell plays, we have no time to munch oranges. Let the wench bawl in the street.”
Poor Moll’s tears flowed again with each harsh word. Nell was not so easily affected.
“Odso, my lord! It is a pity your lordship is not a player. Then the orange-trade would flourish,” she said.
Buckingham bowed, amused and curious. “Say you so, i’ faith! Pray, why, mad minx?”
“Your lordship would make such a good mark for the peel,” retorted Nell, tossing a bit of orange-peel in his face, to the infinite delight of Hart and his fellow-players.