The wine added further zest to the merry-making and the desire for sport.
“Now, fair huswife,” continued Charles, his thoughts reverting to Adair, “set forth the dish, that we may carve it to our liking. ’Tis a dainty bit,–lace, velvet and ruffles.”
“Heyday, Sire,” responded Nell, evasively, “the larder’s empty.”
“Devil on’t,” cried Charles, ferociously; “no mincing, wench. In the confusion of the ball, the bird escaped my guard by magic. We know whither the flight.”
The King assumed a knowing look.
“Escaped the guard?” gasped Nell, in great surprise. “Alas, I trow some petticoat has hid him then.”
“I’ll stake my life upon’t,” observed James, who had not been heard from in some time but who had been observing the scene with decorous dignity.
“Sire, you would not injure Adair,” pleaded Nell, now alert, with all her arts of fascination. “You are too generous. Blue eyes of heaven, and such a smile! Did you mark that young Irishman’s smile, Sire?”
Her impudence was so bewitching that the King scarce knew whether it were jest or earnest. He sprang to his feet from the couch, where he had thrown himself after the toast to Nell, and, with some forcefulness, exclaimed:
“Odsfish, this to my teeth, rogue! Guard the doors, gallants; we’d gaze upon this paragon.”