“I gave you a golden guinea,” answered his lordship, woefully.
“I gave you a golden dozen, my lord!” replied Nell, gleefully.
“Oranges, who will have my oranges?”
She was done with Buckingham and had turned about for other prey.
Hart could not allow the opportunity to escape without a shot at his hated lordship.
“Fleeced,” he whispered grimly over his lordship’s shoulder, with a merry chuckle.
Buckingham rose angrily.
“A plague on the wench and her dealings,” he said. His oranges rolled far and wide over the floor of the greenroom.
“You should be proud, my lord, to be robbed by so fair a hand,” continued Hart, consolingly. “’Tis an honour, I assure you; we all envy you.”
Buckingham did not relish the consolation.