“Thou must even let me present thee with my little manor at Twickenham, then,” cried Essex. “Psha, now! no words! ’T is not worth a word!”
He caught up the philosopher’s hand while he spoke, and, as a princely smile suffused his lip, seconded his munificent proposal with his looks.
“Oh, my Lord! ’t is worth full three thousand pounds!” said Bacon.
“Tut, a pin!” laughed the Earl. “’T is thine, an’ thou lovest me! But some one comes. No more words, now!”
Master Bacon, though he was evidently greatly moved, would probably have spoken further, notwithstanding the young Earl’s request; but before he could give utterance to his sentiments, a servant opened the chamber-door, and two cavaliers, about the middle age, and of graceful and prepossessing appearance, thereupon pushed in.
“See, see, my Lord Rutland,” cried the foremost cavalier to the other; “if we have not caught him with philosophy, let me die! Thou hast lost thy wager!”
“And prithee what doth the wager affect, my Lord Bedford?” cried Essex, with a smile.
“Rutland here, in his exquisite conceit, wagered me thou hadst departed for Portsmouth,” answered the Earl of Bedford. “The wager is no less than ten angels.”
“Give thee joy of it!” said the Earl of Rutland. “I had rather lose the angels, than lose my gossip’s company to Portsmouth.”
“I’faith, now,” cried Essex, “thou makest me sorry that thou hast lost. I am simply waiting for Hal Tracey, and then I am off.”