“I spoke to the King,” haughtily replied the Duchess, not deigning to glance at Nell.
The King placed his hands upon his forehead in bewilderment.
“This is a question for the Prime Minister and sages of the realm in council.”
“There are but two chairs, Sire,” continued Portsmouth, coldly.
“Two chairs!” exclaimed the Merry Monarch, aghast, as he saw the breach hopelessly widening. “I am lost.”
“That is serious, Sire,” said Nell, sadly; and then her eye twinkled as she suggested, “but perhaps we might make out with one, for the Duchess’s sake. I am so little.”
She turned her head and laughed gaily, while she watched the Duchess’s face out of the corner of her eye.
“’Sheart,” sighed the King, “I have construed grave controversies of state in my time, but ne’er drew the line yet betwixt black eyes and blue, brunette and blonde, when both were present. Another chair, landlord! Come, my sweethearts; eat, drink and forget.”
The King threw himself carelessly into a chair in the hope that, in meat and drink, he might find peace.
“Aye,” acquiesced Nell, who was already at work, irrespective of ceremony, “eat, drink and forget! I prefer to quarrel after supper.”