“Adair! Adair!” cried Nell, to the astonishment of all. “We spent our youth together. I see him in my mind’s eye, Sire, throw down the gauntlet in Nell’s name and defy the world for her. Fill the cups. We’ll drink to my new-found hero! Fill! Fill! To Beau Adair, as you love me, gallants! Long life to Adair!”
The cups were filled to overflowing and trembled on eager lips in response to the hostess’s merry toast.
“Stay!” commanded the King, in peremptory tones. “Not a drop to a coward!”
“A coward!” cried Nell, aghast. “Adair a coward? I’ll never credit it, Sire!”
She turned away, lest she reveal her merriment, as she bethought her: “He is trembling in my boots now. I can feel him shake.”
“Our pledge is Nell, Nell only!” exclaimed the King, his cup high in air.
With one accord, the gallants eagerly took up the royal pledge. “Aye, aye, Nell!” “Nell!” “We’ll drink to Nell!”
“You do me honour, royal gentlemen,” bowed Nell, well pleased at the King’s toast.
She had scarce touched the cup to her lips, however, with a mental chuckle, “Poor Adair! Here’s a health to the inner man!” when her eye fell upon one of Adair’s gray boots, which Moll had failed to hide, in her excitement, now revealing itself quite plainly in the light of the many candles. She caught it adroitly on the tip of her toe and sent it whizzing through the air in the direction of poor Moll, who, fortunately, caught it in midair and hid it quickly beneath her apron.
The King turned at the sound; but Nell’s face was as woefully unconcerned as a church-warden’s at his hundredth burial.