e, her laugh too was merrier and
more roguish:

_"This jest was first of the other house's making,
And, five times tried, has never fail'd of taking;_

* * * * *

_This is that hat, whose very sight did win ye
To laugh and clap as though the devil were in ye,_

* * * * *

_I'll write a play, says one, for I have got
A broad-brimm'd hat, and waist-belt, towards a plot.
Says the other, I have one more large than that,
Thus they out-write each other with a hat!
The brims still grew with every play they writ;
And grew so large, they cover'd all the wit.
Hat was the play; 't was language, wit, and tale:
Like them that find meat, drink, and cloth in ale."_

The King leaned well out over the box-rail, his dark eyes intent upon
Nell's face.

A fair hand, however, was placed impatiently upon his shoulder and drew
him gently back. "Lest you fall, my liege."

"Thanks, Castlemaine," he replied, kindly but knowingly. "You are always
thoughtful."

The play went on. The actors came and went. Hart appeared in Oriental
robes as Almanzor--a dress which mayhap had served its purposes for
Othello, and mayhap had not; for cast-off court-dresses, without regard
to fitness, were the players' favourite costumes in those days, the
richness more than the style mattering.

With mighty force, he read from the centre of the stage, with elocution
true and syllable precise, Dryden's ponderous lines. The King nodded
approvingly to the poet. The poet glowed with pride at the patronage of
the King. The old-time audience were enchanted. Dryden sat with a
triumphant smile as he dwelt upon his poetic lines and heard the
cherished syllables receive rounds of applause from the Londoners.

Was it the thought, dear Dryden; or was it Nell's pretty ways that
bewitched the most of it? Nell's laugh still echoes in the world; but
where are your plays, dear Dryden?

CHAPTER II

_It's near your cue, Mistress Nell!_

The greenroom of the King's House was scarcely a prepossessing place or
inviting. A door led to the stage; another to the street. On the
remaining doors might have been deciphered from the Old English of a
scene-artist's daub "Mistress Gwyn" and "Mr. Hart." These doors led
respectively to the tiring-room of the sweet sprite who had but now set
the pit wild with a hat over a sparkling eye