“You saw the kiss?”
“No,” answered Nell, dryly, and she could scarce contain her merriment. “I–I–felt the shock.”
Before she had finished the sentence, the King appeared in the doorway. His troubled spirit had led him to return, to speak further with the Duchess regarding the purport of the treaties. He had the good of his people at heart, and he was not a little anxious in mind lest he had been over-hasty in signing such weighty articles without a more careful reading. He stopped short as he beheld, to his surprise, the Irish spark Adair in earnest converse with his hostess.
“I hate Nell Gwyn,” he overheard the Duchess say.
“Is’t possible?” interrogated Nell, with wondering eyes.
The King caught this utterance as well.
“In a passion over Nelly?” reflected he. “I’d sooner face Cromwell’s soldiers at Boscobel! All hail the oak!”
His Majesty’s eye saw with a welcome the spreading branches of the monarch of the forest, outlined on the tapestry; and, with a sigh of relief, he glided quickly behind it and, joining a group of maskers, passed into an anteroom, quite out of ear-shot.
“Most strange!” continued Nell, wonderingly. “Nell told me but yesterday that Portsmouth was charming company–but a small eater.”
“’Tis false,” cried the Duchess, and her brow clouded at the unpleasant memory of the meeting at Ye Blue Boar. “I never met the swearing orange-wench.”