Buckingham leaned lazily over the back of a chair and replied confidently, knowing that his speech would be no balm to the irate manager: “Nell always keeps her engagements religiously with me. We are to sup together to-night, Hart.”
“Odso!” retorted the other, drawing himself up to his full height. “You will be disappointed, methinks.”
“I trow not,” Buckingham observed, with a smile which made Hart wince. “Pepys’s wife has him mewed up at home when Nelly plays, and the King is tied to other apron-strings.” His lordship chuckled as he bethought him how cleverly he had managed that his Majesty be under the proper influence. “What danger else?” he inquired, cuttingly.
Though the words were mild, the feelings of the two men were at white-heat.
“Your lordship’s hours are too valuable to waste,” politely suggested the manager. “I happen to know Mistress Gwyn sups with another to-night.”
“Another?” sneered his lordship.
“Another!” hotly repeated the actor.
“We shall see, friend Hart,” said Buckingham, in a tone no less agreeable, with difficulty restraining his feelings.
He threw himself impatiently into a big arm-chair, which he had swung around angrily, so that its back was to the manager.
The insult was more than Hart could bear. He also seized a chair, and vented his vengeance upon it. Almost hurled from its place, it fell back to back with Buckingham’s.