a second or two."

She gave it me exquisitely.

"'There are with whom I can be more than gentle, madam.'"

Here I returned the eye with vigour.

"'What manner of men are these you favour?'"

"'They are not men, madam. Neither are they favoured of me.

"'Of whom, then?'"

"'Of Heaven, madam, and at birth. I mean fair women."'

"Such as--"

"'Such as you, madam.'"

The way she said 'Hush!' at that was a flash of genius. It was
indescribably eloquent. She forbade and invited in the same breath.
It was wonderful, and it made me Buckingham. And Buckingham it brought
to her feet. Little wonder. It would have brought a cardinal. In the
passionate rhetoric of my lines I wooed her, sitting there on the tree
trunk, her head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, and always the
faint smile that sends a man mad. I never had to tell her to rise. To
the line she swayed towards me. To the line she slipped into my arms.
She even raised her lips to mine at the last. Then, as I stooped for
the kiss, she placed her two small hands firmly on my face and pushed
me away.

"Very nice, indeed," she said. "You know your lines well, and you know
how to speak them. Hare, I think you're going to be rather good."

I wiped the perspiration off my forehead.

"You made me good, then. I shall never give such a show again."

"Of course you will."

"Never! Never, Alice! But you--you're wonderful. Good Heavens, lass,
this might be the two hundredth night you'd played the part. Are you
some great one I've not recognized? And will you sign a
picture-postcard for our second housemaid--the one who saw 'Buzz-Buzz'
eighteen times?"

"What! Not the one with fair hair?"

"And flat feet? The very one. Junket, her name is. By Curds out of
Season. My mistake. I was thinking of our beagle. Don't think I'm
quite mad. I'm only drunk. You're the wine."

"The Queen is, you mean."

"No, no--you, Alice."

She looked at her wrist-watch.

"Oh, all right," I said. "The Queen's the wine, the play's the thing.
Anything you like. Only I'm tired of play-acting, and I only want to
talk to Alice. Come and let me introduce Pomfret."

"He hasn't been here all the time?"

"Waiting in the road."

"Oh, he's a horse."

I laughed by way of answer, and we walked to where Pomfret stood,
patient, immobile. I introduced him elaborately. My lady swept him a
curtsey.

"I have to thank you for lending me your rug, Pomfret," she s