Nell hastened to explain, "that the fashion
makes the man. He did not like my former fashion. It hid too much that
was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great Duchess
of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty."

She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed
hat, as she offered the letter.

"Oh, you are the gentleman," said Portsmouth, recalling her request to
Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the
letter and broke the seal eagerly.

"She does not suspect," thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the
curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that
she might see the King.

Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.

"From Rochet! Dear Rochet!" mused the Duchess, as she read aloud the
lines: "'The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and
very little versed in the sins of court.'"

"Very little," muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon
the whereabouts and doings of the King.

"'He is of excellent birth,'" continued the Duchess, reading, "'brave,
young and to be trusted--_to be trusted_. I commend him to your
kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.'"

She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly.
Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.

"This is a very strong letter, sir," said Portsmouth, with an inquiring
look.

"Yes, very strong," promptly acquiesced Nell; and she chuckled as she
recalled that she had written it herself, taking near a fortnight in the
composition. Her fingers ached at the memory.

"Where did you leave Rochet?" inquired the Duchess, almost
incredulously.

"Leave Rochet?" thought Nell, aghast. "I knew she would ask me something
like that."

There was a moment's awkwardness--Nell was on difficult ground. She
feared lest she might make a misstep which would reveal her identity.
The Duchess grew impatient. Finally, Nell mustered courage and made a
bold play for it, as ever true to her brogue.

"Where did I leave Rochet?" she said, as if she had but then realized
the Duchess's meaning, then boldly answered: "In Cork."

"In Cork!" cried Portsmouth, in blank surprise. "I thought his mission
took him to Dublin." She eyed the youth closely and wondered if he
really knew the mission.

"Nay; Cork!" firmly repeated Nell; for she dared not retract, lest she
awaken suspicion. "I