“His back was shapely, Sire,” observed Rochester, with quaint humour.
“Yea, and his heels!” cried the King, reflectively. “He had such dainty heels–Mercury’s wings attached, to waft him on his way.”
“This is moonshine madness!” exclaimed Nell, with the blandest of bland smiles. “There’s none such here. By my troth, I would there were. Nay, ask Moll.”
Moll did not wait to be asked.
“Not one visitor to-night,” she asserted promptly.
“Odso!” cried Charles, in a mocking tone. “Whence came the Jack at the window–the brave young challenger–‘Would ye raise honest men from their beds at such an hour?’”
A burst of laughter followed the King’s grave imitation of the window-boaster.
“Sire!” sighed Rochester, in like spirit. “‘Do you think this a vintner’s? There are no topers here.’”
Another burst of merry laughter greeted the speaker, as he punctuated his words by catching up the wine-cups from the table and clinking them gaily.
Nell’s face was as solemn as a funeral.