Part 25 (2/2)
”Vain c.o.xcomb!” cried Portsmouth, reprovingly, though she was highly amused and even pleased with the strange youth's conceit.
”Nay; if I admire not myself,” wistfully suggested Nell, in reply, with pretence of much modesty, ”who will praise poor me in this great palace?”
”You are new at court?” asked Portsmouth, doubtingly.
”Quite new,” a.s.serted Nell, gaining confidence with each speech. ”My London tailor made a man of me only to-day.”
”A man of you only to-day!” cried the d.u.c.h.ess, in wonderment.
”He a.s.sured me, madame,” Nell hastened to explain, ”that the fas.h.i.+on makes the man. He did not like my former fas.h.i.+on. It hid too much that was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty.”
She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed hat, as she offered the letter.
”Oh, you are the gentleman,” said Portsmouth, recalling her request to Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the letter and broke the seal eagerly.
”She does not suspect,” thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that she might see the King.
Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.
”From Rochet! Dear Rochet!” mused the d.u.c.h.ess, as she read aloud the lines: ”'The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and very little versed in the sins of court.'”
”Very little,” muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon the whereabouts and doings of the King.
”'He is of excellent birth,'” continued the d.u.c.h.ess, reading, ”'brave, young and to be trusted--_to be trusted_. I commend him to your kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.'”
She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly.
Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.
”This is a very strong letter, sir,” said Portsmouth, with an inquiring look.
”Yes, very strong,” promptly acquiesced Nell; and she chuckled as she recalled that she had written it herself, taking near a fortnight in the composition. Her fingers ached at the memory.
”Where did you leave Rochet?” inquired the d.u.c.h.ess, almost incredulously.
”Leave Rochet?” thought Nell, aghast. ”I knew she would ask me something like that.”
There was a moment's awkwardness--Nell was on difficult ground. She feared lest she might make a misstep which would reveal her ident.i.ty.
The d.u.c.h.ess grew impatient. Finally, Nell mustered courage and made a bold play for it, as ever true to her brogue.
”Where did I leave Rochet?” she said, as if she had but then realized the d.u.c.h.ess's meaning, then boldly answered: ”In Cork.”
”In Cork!” cried Portsmouth, in blank surprise. ”I thought his mission took him to Dublin.” She eyed the youth closely and wondered if he really knew the mission.
”Nay; Cork!” firmly repeated Nell; for she dared not retract, lest she awaken suspicion. ”I am quite sure it was Cork I left him in.”
”Quite sure?” exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess, her astonishment increasing with each confused reply.
<script>