“How now, sirrah?  Art sleeping in Our presence?” prompted the queen sharply.

The Earl swallowed noisily once or twice, just to show that he was awake, and then plunged.

“An it please you, Madam, two diamonds,” he muttered, with but a sorry show of his habitual arrogance.

“Double!” said Sir Francis Drake in crisp seamanlike tones, whereat the Earl of Leicester was seen to fumble for the hilt of his rapier.

“Stay, my Lord,” his liege commanded; “’tis true the Knight hath left his manners in Devonshire, or on the Spanish main mayhap, but keep your brawl for an hour and place more fitting.  We redouble.”

A momentary silence followed the queen’s discourse, cut short by the uncouth ejaculation “’Ods fish!” which escaped from Sir Francis apparently without his consent.  He embarked on an apology at once, based on the fact that he was but an honest sailor; but, meeting with no encouragement, he gave it up and fell to sucking his teeth.

Sir Walter meanwhile made good use of the interval to perfect a flower of speech signifying, in a manner worthy a courtier of his reputation, that he was content.  His effort drew from the queen a glance as nearly approaching the “glad eye” as any that august spinster was ever known to dispense.  The Laird of Kenilworth announced that he also was content; but historians should accept the statement with reserve.  Sir Francis either wasn’t sure whether the rules of the game allowed him to double again, or else had just enough tact not to do so.  The game then proceeded.

Sir Walter led the ace of clubs.  The appearance of the noble lord’s solitary little diamond, as he laid down his hand, was greeted by a loud hiccough from the old salt, and the queen herself was only saved from swooning by the timely administrations of a page with a flask of sal-volatile.

When, fourth in hand, she trumped the honest sailor’s ace, her partner had the hardihood to make conventional inquiry as to whether she had any clubs.  Her majesty uttered in reply the one dreadful word, “Treason,” thus avoiding with true statesmanship any direct answer to the question, and indicating clearly her opinion of his two-diamond call.  The Keeper of the Privy Purse shot out a lean hand and gathered in the trick.

With the help of the ace of spades in dummy, the ace of hearts in her own hand, and a discriminating use of her Royal prerogative in the matter of following suit, all went well until the odd trick had been won.  After that, however, Sir Francis, who had not doubled without good reason, proceeded to deal out six diamonds, led by the ace, king and queen.  His partner unwisely allowed his feelings to get the better of him.  “As will SHAKSPEARE hath it,” he observed with unction, “’now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer—­’” but stopped on a sudden, with ears and scalp twitching horribly.