She recrossed the room quickly to Portsmouth.
“Madame,” she exclaimed, in crisp, nervous tones, loud enough for the King’s ear, “I have been deceiving, lying to you. I stood here, praising, honouring Eleanor Gwyn–an apple rotten to the core!”
“How now?” ejaculated Charles, in an undertone.
His carelessness vanished upon the instant. Where he had waited for the single ear of Portsmouth, he became at once an earnest listener.
Nell paused not.
“I had a friend who told me he loved Nell. I loved that friend. God knows I loved him.”
“Yes, yes!” urged Portsmouth, with eagerness.
“A man of noble name and princely mien,” continued Nell, so standing that the words went, like arrows, straight to the King’s ear and heart, “a man of honour, who would have died fighting for Nell’s honour–”
“Misled youth,” muttered Portsmouth.
Nell seemed not to hear the words.