Nell, dryly.

"The King's," said Portsmouth, proudly.

"The King's!" cried Nell, opening wide her eyes. "Take back your kiss. I
would not have it."

"Indeed!" said Portsmouth, smiling.

"'Tis too volatile," charged Nell, decisively. "'Tis here, 'tis there,
'tis everywhere bestowed. Each rosy tavern-wench with a pretty ankle
commands it halt. A kiss is the gift of God, the emblem of true love.
Take back the King's kiss; I do not wish it."

"He does not love the King," thought Portsmouth, ever on the lookout for
advantage. "A possible ally!"

She turned upon the youth, with humorous, mocking lip, and said
reprovingly: "A kiss is a kiss the world over, fair sir; and the King's
kisses are sacred to Portsmouth's lips."

"Zounds," replied Nell, with a wicked wink, "not two hours since, he
bestowed a kiss on Eleanor Gwyn--"

"Nell Gwyn!" cried the Duchess, interrupting; and she started violently.

"With oaths, mountains high," continued Nell, with pleasurable
harshness, "that his lips were only for her."

The Duchess stood speechless, quivering from top to toe.

Nell herself swaggered carelessly across the room, muttering
mischievously, as she watched the Duchess from the corner of her eye:
"Methinks that speech went home."

"He kissed her in your presence?" gasped Portsmouth, anxiously following
her.

"I was not far off, dear Duchess," was the quizzical reply.

"You saw the kiss?"

"No," answered Nell, dryly, and she could scarce contain her merriment.
"I--I--felt the shock."

Before she had finished the sentence, the King appeared in the doorway.
His troubled spirit had led him to return, to speak further with the
Duchess regarding the purport of the treaties. He had the good of his
people at heart, and he was not a little anxious in mind lest he had
been over-hasty in signing such weighty articles without a more careful
reading. He stopped short as he beheld, to his surprise, the Irish spark
Adair in earnest converse with his hostess.

"I hate Nell Gwyn," he overheard the Duchess say.

"Is't possible?" interrogated Nell, with wondering eyes.

The King caught this utterance as well.

"In a passion over Nelly?" reflected he. "I'd sooner face Cromwell's
soldiers at Boscobel! All hail the oak!"

His Majesty's eye saw with a welcome the spreading branches of the
monarch of the forest, outlined on the tapestry; and, with a sigh of
relief, he glided quickly behind it and, joining a group of maskers,
pa