“Two crowns, an’t please your Grace,” returned the supposed lady, making a wild conjecture.

“Two crowns! thou foolish Antony!” Then recollecting herself, “two crowns! what, when mine costs but half!  Thou presumptuous, lavish varlet—­no, no, wench! what right hast thou to wear gowns finer than thy liege?—­I’ll teach you.”  Wherewith, erecting all her talons, and clawing frightfully with them in the air, the supposed Queen Bess leapt at the unfortunate maid of honour, appeared to tear the imaginary robe, and drove her victim on the stage with a great air of violence, amid peals of laughter from the other children, loud enough to drown those of the elders, who could hardly restrain their merriment.

Gilbert Talbot, however, had been looking about him anxiously all the time, and would fain have moved away; but a sign from Queen Mary withheld him, as one of the children cried,

“Now! show us how she serves her lords.”

The play seemed well understood between them, for the mimic queen again settled herself on her throne, while Will Cavendish, calling out, “Now I’m Master Hatton,” began to tread a stately measure on the grass, while the queen exclaimed, “Who is this new star of my court?  What stalwart limbs, what graceful tread!  Who art thou, sir?”

“Madam, I am—­I am.  What is it?  An ef—­ef—­”

“A daddy-long-legs,” mischievously suggested another of the group.

“No, it’s Latin.  Is it Ephraim?  No; it’s a fly, something like a gnat” (then at an impatient gesture from her Majesty) “disporting itself in the beams of the noontide sun.”

“Blood-sucking,” whispered the real Queen behind the fern.  “He is not so far out there.  See! see! with what a grace the child holds out her little hand for him to kiss.  I doubt me if Elizabeth herself could be more stately.  But who comes here?”

“I’m Sir Philip Sydney.”

“No, no,” shouted Humfrey, “Sir Philip shall not come into this fooling.  My father says he’s the best knight in England.”

“He is as bad as the rest in flattery to the Queen,” returned young Cavendish.

“I’ll not have it, I say.  You may be Lord Leicester an you will!  He’s but Robin Dudley.”

“Ah!” began the lad, now advancing and shading his eyes.  “What burnished splendour dazzles my weak sight?  Is it a second Juno that I behold, or lovely Venus herself?  Nay, there is a wisdom in her that can only belong to the great Minerva herself!  So youthful too.  Is it Hebe descended to this earth?”

Cis smirked, and held out a hand, saying in an affected tone, “Lord Earl, are thy wits astray?”

“Whose wits would not be perturbed at the mere sight of such exquisite beauty?”

“Come and sit at our feet, and we will try to restore them,” said the stage queen; but here little Diccon, the youngest of the party, eager for more action, called out, “Show us how she treats her lords and ladies together.”