Pshaw!" he cried, waving aside the players in a
princely fashion. "When Nell plays, we have no time to munch oranges.
Let the wench bawl in the street."

Poor Moll's tears flowed again with each harsh word. Nell was not so
easily affected.

"Odso, my lord! It is a pity your lordship is not a player. Then the
orange-trade would flourish," she said.

Buckingham bowed, amused and curious. "Say you so, i' faith! Pray, why,
mad minx?"

"Your lordship would make such a good mark for the peel," retorted Nell,
tossing a bit of orange-peel in his face, to the infinite delight of
Hart and his fellow-players.

"Devil!" angrily exclaimed his lordship as he realized the insult. "I
would kill a man for this; a woman, I can only love." His hand left his
sword-hilt; and he bowed low to the vixen of the theatre, picked from
the floor the bit of peel which had fallen, kissed it, tossed it over
his shoulder and turned away.

Nell was not done, however; her revenge was incomplete. "There! dry your
eyes, Moll," she exclaimed. "Give me your basket, child. You shall be
avenged still further."

The greenroom had now filled from the stage and the tiring-rooms; and
all gathered gleefully about to see what next the impish Nell would do,
for avenged she would be they all knew, though the course of her
vengeance none could guess.

The manager, catching at the probable outcome when Nell seized from
Moll's trembling arm the basket heaped with golden fruit, gave the first
warning: "Great Heavens! Flee for your lives! I'faith, here comes the
veteran robber at such traffic."

There was a sudden rush for the stage, but Nell cried: "Guard the door,
Moll; don't let a rascal out. I'll do the rest."

It was not Moll's strength, however, which kept the greenroom filled,
but expectation of Nell. All gathered about with the suspense of a
drama; for Nell herself was a whole play as she stood in the centre of
that little group of lords and players, dressed for Almahyde, Dryden's
heroine, with a basket of oranges on her dimpled arm. What a pretty
picture she was too--prettier here even than on the stage! The nearer,
the prettier! A band of roses, one end of which formed a garland falling
to the floor, circled and bound in her curls. What a figure in her
Oriental garb, hiding and revealing. Indeed, the greenroom seemed
bewitched by her cry: "Oranges, will you have my oranges?"

She lifted the basket high and offered the fruit in her enchanting
old-ti