hich for an instant had clouded her face changed
to one of merriment, under Adair's magic glance.

"And you would desert me for such a fleshless sprite?" she asked.

"Not so," said Nell, with a winning look; "but, when my better-half
returns to life, I surely cannot refuse an interview--especially an she
come from afar."

Nell's eyes arose with an expression of sadness, while her finger
pointed down--ward in the direction of what she deemed the probable
abode of her departed "Nell." Her lips twitched in merriment, however,
despite her efforts to the contrary; and the hostess fell a-laughing.

"Ladies," she cried, as she appealed to one and all, "is not _le
Beau_ a delight--so different from ordinary men?"

"I am not an ordinary man, I assure you," Nell hastened to declare.

This assertion was acquiesced in by a buzz of pretty compliments from
the entire bevy of ladies. "Positively charming!" exclaimed one. "A
perfect love!" said another.

Nell listened resignedly.

"'Sheart," she said, at length, with an air of _ennui_, "I cannot
help it. 'Tis all part of being a man, you know."

"Would that all men were like you, _le Beau_!" sighed the hostess,
not forgetting to glance at the King, who again sat disconsolate, in the
midst of his attendant courtiers, drawn up, as in line of battle,
against the wall.

"Heaven help us if they were!" slyly suggested Nell.

Rochester, who had been watching the scene in his mischievous, artistic
way, drew from Portsmouth's compliment to Adair another meaning. He was
a mixture 'twixt a man of arts and letters and Satan's own--a man after
the King's own heart. Turning to the King, with no desire to appease the
mischief done, he said, banteringly:

"Egad, there's a rap at you, Sire. France would make you jealous."

The Duke of Buckingham too, though he appeared asleep, had seen it all.

"And succeeds, methinks," he reflected, glancing approvingly in the
direction of the Irish youth. "A good ally, i'faith."

Nell, indeed, was using all her arts of fascination to ingratiate
herself with the Duchess, and making progress, too.

"Your eyes are glorious, fair hostess," she said, in her most gallant
love-tones, "did I not see my rival in them."

She could not, however, look at Portsmouth for laughter, as she thought:
"I believe lying goes with the breeches; I never was so proficient
before."

The compliment aroused the King's sluggish nature.

"I can endure no more, gallants," c