“Devil!” angrily exclaimed his lordship as he realized the insult. “I would kill a man for this; a woman, I can only love.” His hand left his sword-hilt; and he bowed low to the vixen of the theatre, picked from the floor the bit of peel which had fallen, kissed it, tossed it over his shoulder and turned away.
Nell was not done, however; her revenge was incomplete. “There! dry your eyes, Moll,” she exclaimed. “Give me your basket, child. You shall be avenged still further.”
The greenroom had now filled from the stage and the tiring-rooms; and all gathered gleefully about to see what next the impish Nell would do, for avenged she would be they all knew, though the course of her vengeance none could guess.
The manager, catching at the probable outcome when Nell seized from Moll’s trembling arm the basket heaped with golden fruit, gave the first warning: “Great Heavens! Flee for your lives! I’faith, here comes the veteran robber at such traffic.”
There was a sudden rush for the stage, but Nell cried: “Guard the door, Moll; don’t let a rascal out. I’ll do the rest.”
It was not Moll’s strength, however, which kept the greenroom filled, but expectation of Nell. All gathered about with the suspense of a drama; for Nell herself was a whole play as she stood in the centre of that little group of lords and players, dressed for Almahyde, Dryden’s heroine, with a basket of oranges on her dimpled arm. What a pretty picture she was too– prettier here even than on the stage! The nearer, the prettier! A band of roses, one end of which formed a garland falling to the floor, circled and bound in her curls. What a figure in her Oriental garb, hiding and revealing. Indeed, the greenroom seemed bewitched by her cry: “Oranges, will you have my oranges?”
She lifted the basket high and offered the fruit in her enchanting old-time way, a way which had won for her the place of first actress in England. Could it not now dispose of Moll’s wares and make the child happy? Almahyde’s royal train was caught up most unroyally, revealing two dainty ankles; and she laughed and danced and disposed of her wares all in a breath. Listen and love:
Sweet as love-lips, dearest mine,
Picked by Spanish maids divine,
Black-eyed beauties, who, like Eve,
With golden fruit their loves deceive!
Buy oranges; buy oranges!
Close your eyes, when these you taste;
Think your arm about her waist:
Thus with sixpence may you win
Happiness unstained with sin.
Buy oranges; buy oranges!
As the luscious fruit you sip,
You will wager ’tis her lip;
Nothing sweeter since the rise
Of wickedness in Paradise.
Buy oranges; buy oranges!
There were cries of “Brava!” “Another jig!” and “Hurrah for Nelly!” It was one of those bits of acting behind the scenes which are so rare and exquisite and which the audience never see.
“Marry, gallants, deny me after that, if you dare”; and Nell’s little foot came down firmly in the last step of a triumphant jig, indicating a determination that Moll’s oranges should be sold and quickly too.