r away.

"What shall we have for supper?" was his sole concern. "I think Nelly
would like spiced tongue." Instantly his hands and eyes were raised in
mock invocation of the intervention of the Powers that Be, and so
suddenly that Moll drew back. "Ye Gods," he exclaimed aloud, "she has
enough of that already! Ah, the vintage of----"

It was more habit than courage which brought to Moll's, trembling lips
the familiar orange-cry, which again interrupted him: "Oranges; only
sixpence. Here is one picked for you, my lord."

Buckingham's eyes flashed with anger; he was not wont to have his way,
much less his pleasure, disturbed by the lowly. "Oh, hang you, you
disturb me. I am thinking; don't you perceive I am thinking? Begone!"

"Only sixpence, my lord; I have not sold one to-night," pleaded the
girl, sadly.

His lordship rose irritably. "I have no pauper's pence," he exclaimed.
"Out of my way! Ragbag!" He pushed the girl roughly aside and crossed
the room.

At the same instant, there was confusion at the stage-door, the climax
of which was the re-entrance of Hart into the greenroom.

"How can a man play when he trembles for his life lest he step upon a
lord?" cried the angry manager. "They should be horsewhipped off the
stage, and"--his eyes falling upon Buckingham--"out of the greenroom."

"Ah, Hart," began his lordship, with a patronizing air, "why is Nelly so
long? I desire to see her."

Hart's lips trembled, but he controlled his passion. "Indeed? His
Majesty and the good folk in front would doubtless gladly await your
interview with Mistress Eleanor Gwyn. Shall I announce your will, my
lord, unto his Majesty and stop the play?"

"You grow ironical, friend Hart," replied his lordship.

"Not so," said the actor, bowing low; "I am your lordship's most
obedient servant."

Buckingham's lip curled and his eyes revealed that he would have said
more, but the room was meantime filling with players from the stage,
some exchanging compliments, some strutting before the glass, and he
would not so degrade his dignity before them. Dick, foil in hand even in
the manager's room, was testing the steel's strength to his utmost, in
boyish fashion.

This confusion lent Moll courage, and forth came again the cry:
"Oranges? Will you have my oranges? Only sixpence, sir."

She boldly offered her wares to Almanzor, but started and paled when
the hero turned and revealed Manager Hart.

"What are you doing here, you little imp?