“The papers have not gone, Sire,” blandly remarked Nell.
“Thanks to you, my Nell,” said Charles. He addressed Portsmouth sharply: “Madame, your coach awaits you.”
“But, Sire,” replied the Duchess, who was brave to the last, “Madame Gwyn has yet Adair to answer for!”
“Adair will answer for himself!” cried Nell, triumphantly.
She threw aside the pink gown and stood as Adair before the astonished eyes of all.
“At your service,” she said, bowing sweetly to the Duchess.
“A player’s trick!” cried Portsmouth, haughtily, as a parting shot of contempt.
“Yes, Portsmouth,” replied Nell, still in sweetest accents, “to show where lies the true and where the false.”
“You are a witch,” hissed Portsmouth.
“You are the King’s true love,” exclaimed the Merry Monarch. “To my arms, Nell, to my arms; for you first taught me the meaning of true love! Buckingham, you forget your courtesy. Her grace wishes to be escorted to her coach.”