He crossed the room, turning an instant to look, with a humorous, quizzical glance, at Portsmouth. Nell mistook the glance for a jealous one and, perking up quickly, caught the royal eye with a challenging eye, tapping her sword-hilt meaningly. Had the masks been off, the situation would have differed. As it was, the King smiled indifferently.

The episode did not affect him further than to touch his sense of humour. Nell turned triumphantly to her partner.

"Odsbud," she exclaimed, with a delicious, youthful swagger, "we may have to measure swords in your behalf, dear hostess. I trow the fellow loves you."

"Have a care," whispered the d.u.c.h.ess, nervously. "It is the King."

"What care I for a king?" saucily replied Nell, with a finger-snap. She had taken good care, however, to speak very low. "My arm, my arm, d.u.c.h.ess!" she continued, with a gallant step. "Places, places; or the music will outstrip us."

"Strut on, my pretty bantam," thought Buckingham, whose eyes lost little that might be turned to his own advantage; "I like you well."

There was no mending things at this stage by an apology. The d.u.c.h.ess, therefore, tactfully turned the affair into one of mirth, in which she was quickly joined by her guests. With a merry laugh, she took the Irish gallant's proffered arm, and together they led the dance. The King picked a lady indifferently from among the maskers.

It was a graceful old English measure. Nell's roguish wits, as well as her feet, kept pace with the music. She a.s.sured her partner that she had never loved a woman in all her life before and followed this with a hundred merry jests and sallies, keyed to the merry fiddles, so full of blarney that all were set a-laughing. Anon, the gallants drew their swords and crossed them in the air, while the ladies tiptoed in and out.

Nell's blade touched the King's blade. When all was ended the swords saluted with a knightly flourish, then tapped the floor.

There was an exultant laugh from one and all, and the dance was done.

Nell hastened to her partner's side. She caught the d.u.c.h.ess's hand and kissed it.

"You dance divinely, your grace," she said. "A G.o.ddess on tiptoe."

"Oh, Beau Adair!" replied the d.u.c.h.ess, courtseying low; and her eyes showed that she was not wholly displeased at the warmth of his youthful adoration.

"Oh, d.u.c.h.ess!" said Nell, fondly, acknowledging the salute.

The d.u.c.h.ess hastened to join his Majesty and together they threaded their way through many groups.

Nell tossed her head.

"How I love her!" she muttered, veiling the sarcasm under her breath.

She crossed the great room, her head erect. Her confidence was quite restored. This had been the most difficult bit of acting she had ever done; and how well it had been done!

The other dancers in twos and threes pa.s.sed from the room in search of quiet corners, in which to whisper nothings.

Nell's eyes fell upon Strings, who had had a slight turn for the better in the world and who now, in a dress of somewhat substantial green, was one of the fiddlers at the d.u.c.h.ess's ball.

"How now, sirrah!" she said, sharply, as she planted herself firmly before him to his complete surprise. "I knew you were here."

She placed one of her feet in a devil-may-care fashion upon a convenient chair in manly contempt of its upholstery and peeped amusedly through her mask at her old friend. He looked at her in blank amazement.

"Gads-bobbs," he exclaimed, in confusion, "the Irish gentleman knows me!"

"There's nothing like your old fiddle, Strings," continued Nell, still playing with delight upon his consternation. "It fills me with forty dancing devils. If you were to play at my wake, I would pick up my shroud, and dance my way into Paradise."

"Your lordship has danced to my fiddling before?" he gasped, in utter amazement.

"Danced!" gleefully cried Nell. "I have followed your bow through a thousand jigs. To the devil with these court-steps. I'm for a jig, jig, jig, jig, jig! Oh, I'm for a jig! Tune up, tune up, comrade; and we'll have a touch of the old days at the King's House."

"The King's House! Jigs!" exclaimed the fiddler, now beside himself.

"Jigs!" chuckled Nell. "Jigs are my line of business."

_Oranges, will you have my oranges?

Sweet as love-lips, dearest mine, Picked by Spanish maids divine,--_

The room had now quite cleared; and, protected by a friendly alcove, Nell punctuated the old song with a few happily turned jig-steps.

Strings looked at her a moment in bewilderment: then his face grew warm with smiles; the mystery was explained.

"Mistress Nell, as I live," he cried, joyously, "turned boy!"

"The devil fly away with you, you old idiot! Boy, indeed!" replied Nell, indignantly. "I'm a full-grown widower!"

She had removed her mask and was dancing about Strings gleefully.

There was the sound of returning voices.

"Oons, you will be discovered," exclaimed Strings, cautiously.

"Marry, I forgot," whispered Nell, glancing over her shoulder. "You may have to help me out o' this sc.r.a.pe, Strings, before the night is done."

"You can count on me, Mistress Nell, with life," he replied, earnestly.

"I believe you!" said Nell, in her sympathetic, hearty way. Her mind reverted to the old days when Strings and she were at the King's. "Oh, for just one jig with no petticoats to hinder."

Nell, despite herself, had fallen into an old-time jig, with much gusto, for her heart was for a frolic always, when Strings, seized her arm in consternation, pointing through the archway.

"The King!" she exclaimed.

She clapped her mask to her eyes and near tumbled through the nearest arras out of the room in her eagerness to escape, dragging her ever-faithful comrade with her.

CHAPTER XIII

_For the glory of England?_

The King entered the room with his historic stride. His brow was clouded; but it was all humorous pretence, for trifles were not wont to weigh heavily upon his Majesty. With him came Portsmouth.

"Can you forgive me, Sire?" she asked. "I had promised the dance to Beau Adair. I did not know you, Sire; you masked so cleverly."

"'Sdeath, fair flatterer!" replied the King. "I have lived too long to worry o'er the freaks of women."

"The youth knew not to whom he spoke," still pleaded Portsmouth. "His introduction here bespeaks his pardon, Sire."