“Marry, truly!” answered Nell, decisively. “The Duchess may find it more than she can hold and toss it over.”
“How now, wench!” exclaimed the King, with assumption of wounded dignity. “My heart a ball for women to bat about!”
“Sire, two women often play at rackets even with a king’s heart,” softly suggested Nell.
“Odsfish,” cried the King, with hands and eyes raised in mock supplication. “Heaven help me then.”
Again the hunters’ horn rang clearly on the night.
“The horn! The horn!” said Nell, with forced indifference. “They call you, Sire.”
There was a triumphantly bewitching look in her eyes, however, as she realized the discomfiture of the King. He was annoyed, indeed. His manner plainly betokened his desire to stay and his irritation at the interruption.
“’Tis so!” he said at last, resignedly. “The King is lost.”
The horn sounded clearer. The hunters were returning.
“Again–nearer!” exclaimed Charles, fretfully. His mind reverted to his pious brother; and he laughed as he continued: “Poor brother James and his ostriches!”