"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?"