“But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?” said Raleigh.

“I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake,” said Tressilian, “and separated for the time from my baggage.  I was about to seek thee, to beseech a share of thy lodging.”

“And welcome,” said Raleigh; “it is a noble one.  My Lord of Leicester has done us that kindness, and lodged us in princely fashion.  If his courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it is at least extended far.  I would advise you to tell your strait to the Earl’s chamberlain—­you will have instant redress.”

“Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,” replied Tressilian—­“I would not be troublesome.  Has any one come hither with you?”

“Oh, ay,” said Blount; “Varney and a whole tribe of Leicestrians, besides about a score of us honest Sussex folk.  We are all, it seems, to receive the Queen at what they call the Gallery-tower, and witness some fooleries there; and then we’re to remain in attendance upon the Queen in the Great Hall—­God bless the mark!—­while those who are now waiting upon her Grace get rid of their slough, and doff their riding-suits.  Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak to me, I shall never know what to answer!”

“And what has detained them so long at Warwick?” said Tressilian, unwilling that their conversation should return to his own affairs.

“Such a succession of fooleries,” said Blount, “as were never seen at Bartholomew-fair.  We have had speeches and players, and dogs and bears, and men making monkeys and women moppets of themselves—­I marvel the Queen could endure it.  But ever and anon came in something of ’the lovely light of her gracious countenance,’ or some such trash.  Ah! vanity makes a fool of the wisest.  But come, let us on to this same Gallery-tower—­though I see not what thou Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-dress and boots.”

“I will take my station behind thee, Blount,” said Tressilian, who saw that his friend’s unusual finery had taken a strong hold of his imagination; “thy goodly size and gay dress will cover my defects.”

“And so thou shalt, Edmund,” said Blount.  “In faith I am glad thou thinkest my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wittypate here; for when one does a foolish thing, it is right to do it handsomely.”

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and marched manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and anon looking with complaisance on his crimson stockings, and the huge yellow roses which blossomed on his shoes.  Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy, amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable friend, vented itself in jests, which he whispered into Tressilian’s ear.