“You will be better able to judge of me in this costume, cousin,” said Dorothy.  “It will be more familiar to you than the gowns which ladies wear.”

“I will retract,” said Leicester, whispering to me, and gazing ardently at Dorothy’s ankles.  “God has made something more beautiful than Mistress Vernon’s arms.  By Venus!  I suppose that in His omnipotence He might be able to create something more beautiful than her ankles, but up to this time He has not vouchsafed to me a vision of it.  Ah! did any one ever behold such strength, such perfect symmetry, such—­St. George! the gypsy doesn’t live who can dance like that.”

Sure enough, Dorothy was dancing.  The pipers in the balcony had burst forth in a ribald jig of a tune, and the girl was whirling in a wild, weird, and wondrous dance before her lover-cousin.  Sir George ordered the pipers to cease playing; but again Elizabeth, who was filled with mirth, interrupted, and the music pealed forth in wanton volumes which flooded the gallery.  Dorothy danced like an elfin gypsy to the inspiring strains.  Soon her dance changed to wondrous imitations of the movements of a horse.  She walked sedately around in an ever increasing circle; she trotted and paced; she gave the single foot and racked; she galloped, slowly for a while, and then the gallop merged into a furious run which sent the blood of her audience thrilling through their veins with delight.  The wondrous ease and grace, and the marvellous strength and quickness of her movements, cannot be described.  I had never before thought the human body capable of such grace and agility as she displayed.

After her dance was finished she stepped in front of her cousin and delivered herself as follows:—­

“I am sound from ear tip to fetlock.  There is not a blemish in me.”

“No, by my faith, I will swear there is not!” cried the Earl of Leicester.

“I have good wind,” continued Dorothy, “two good eyes.  By night or by day I can see everything within the range of my vision, and a great deal that is not.  I shy, at times, when an uncouth object suddenly comes upon me.  I am warranted gentle if properly handled, but otherwise it is unsafe to curry my heels.”

Sir George could no longer restrain himself, and again tried to prevent Dorothy from proceeding with her terrible insult to the Stanleys.  The queen, however, was determined to see the end of the frolic, and she said:—­

“Proceed, Mistress Vernon, proceed.”

Dorothy, nothing loath, continued:  “As for my disposition, it might be better.  It probably will improve with age, if it doesn’t grow worse.  I have all the gaits a horse should have.  I am four years old, I have never been trained to work double, and I think I never shall be.  What think you?  Now what have you to offer in exchange?  Step out and let me see you move.”

She took the poor youth by the hand and led him to the middle of the floor.