“To your knees, minx,” commanded James, grimly, “and crave mercy of your prince.”
“Faith and troth,” pleaded Nell, seriously, “’t was I myself with helmet and mantle on. You see, Sire, my menials were guests at Portsmouth’s ball–to lend respectability.”
“Saucy wag,” cried the Merry Monarch. “A ball?–A battle–which would have killed thee straight!”
“It had liked to,” reflected Nell, as she tartly replied: “A war of the sex without me? It was stupid, then. The Duchess missed me, I trow.”
“Never fear,” answered Charles, with difficulty suppressing his mirth; “you were bravely championed.”
“I am sure of that,” said Nell, slyly; “my King was there.”
“And a bantam cock,” ejaculated Charles, sarcastically, “upon whose lips ‘Nell’ hung familiarly.”
“Some strange gallant,” cried Nell, in ecstasy, “took my part before them all? Who was he, Sire? Don’t tantalize me so.”
She smiled, half serious, half humorous, as she pleaded in her charming way.
“A chip from the Blarney Stone,” observed the King at length, ironically, “surnamed Adair!”