e inquired, cuttingly.

Though the words were mild, the feelings of the two men were at
white-heat.

"Your lordship's hours are too valuable to waste," politely suggested
the manager. "I happen to know Mistress Gwyn sups with another
to-night."

"Another?" sneered his lordship.

"Another!" hotly repeated the actor.

"We shall see, friend Hart," said Buckingham, in a tone no less
agreeable, with difficulty restraining his feelings.

He threw himself impatiently into a big arm-chair, which he had swung
around angrily, so that its back was to the manager.

The insult was more than Hart could bear. He also seized a chair, and
vented his vengeance upon it. Almost hurled from its place, it fell back
to back with Buckingham's.

"We shall see, my lord," he said as he likewise angrily took his seat
and folded his arms.

It was like "The Schism" of Vibert.

It is difficult to tell what would have been the result, had the place
been different. Each knew that Nell was just beyond her door; each
hesitated; and each, with bitterness in his heart, held on to himself.
They sat like sphinxes.

Suddenly, Nell's door slightly opened. She was dressed to leave the
theatre. In her hand she held a note.

"A fair message, on my honour! Worth reading twice or even thrice," she
roguishly exclaimed unto her maid as she directed her to hold a candle
nearer that she might once again spell out its words. "'To England's
idol, the divine Eleanor Gwyn.' A holy apt beginning, by the mass! 'My
coach awaits you at the stage-door. We will toast you to-night at
Whitehall.'"

Nell's eyes seemed to drink in the words, and it was her heart which
said: "Long live his Majesty."

She took the King's roses in her arms; the Duke's roses, she tossed upon
the floor.

The manager awoke as from a trance. "You will not believe me," he said
to Buckingham, confidently. "Here comes the arbiter of your woes, my
lord." He arose quickly.

"It will not be hard, methinks, sir, to decide between a coronet and a
player's tinsel crown," observed his princely rival, with a sneer, as he
too arose and assumed an attitude of waiting.

"Have a care, my lord. I may forget--" Hart's fingers played upon his
sword-hilt.

"Your occupation, sir?" jeered Buckingham.

"Aye; my former occupation of a soldier"; and Hart's sword sprang from
its scabbard, with a dexterity that proved that he had not forgotten the
trick of war.

Buckingham too would have drawn, but a me