ssed into an anteroom, quite out of ear-shot.

"Most strange!" continued Nell, wonderingly. "Nell told me but yesterday
that Portsmouth was charming company--but a small eater."

"'Tis false," cried the Duchess, and her brow clouded at the unpleasant
memory of the meeting at Ye Blue Boar. "I never met the swearing
orange-wench."

"Ods-pitikins!" acquiesced Nell, woefully. "Nell's oaths are bad enough
for men."

"Masculine creature!" spitefully ejaculated the Duchess.

"Verily, quite masculine--of late," said Nell, demurely, giving a
significant tug at her boot-top.

"A vulgar player," continued the indignant Duchess, "loves every lover
who wears gold lace and tosses coins."

"Nay; 'tis false!" denied Nell, sharply.

The Duchess looked up, surprised.

Nell was all obeisance in an instant.

"Pardon, dear hostess, a thousand pardons," she prayed; "but I have some
reason to know you misjudge Mistress Nell. With all her myriad faults,
she never loved but one."

"You seem solicitous for her good name, dear Beau?" suggested
Portsmouth, suspiciously.

"I am solicitous for the name of all good women," promptly explained
Nell, who was rarely caught a-napping, "or I would be unworthy of their
sex--I mean their friendship."

The Duchess seemed satisfied with the explanation.

"Dear Beau, what do the cavaliers see in that horrid creature?" archly
asked the Duchess, contemptuous of this liking of the stronger sex.

"Alack-a-day, we men, you know," replied Nell, boastfully, "well--the
best of us make mistakes in women."

"Are you mistaken?" questioned Portsmouth, coyly.

"What?" laughed Nell, in high amusement. "I love Nelly? Nay, Duchess,"
and her voice grew tender, "I adore but one!"

"And she?" asked the hostess, encouraging the youth's apparently
awakening passion.

"How can you ask?" said Nell, with a deep sigh, looking adoringly into
Portsmouth's eyes and almost embracing her.

"Do you not fear?" inquired Portsmouth, well pleased.

"Fear what?" questioned Nell.

"My wrath," said Portsmouth.

"Nay, more, thy love!" sighed Nell, meaningly, assuming a true lover's
dejected visage.

"My love!" cried Portsmouth, curiously.

"Aye," again sighed Nell, more deeply still; "for it is hopeless."

"Try," said the Duchess, almost resting her head upon Nell's shoulder.

"I am doing my best," said Nell, her eyes dancing through wistful
lashes, as she embraced in earnest the Duchess's graceful figure and
held