"Speak, Messer Guido."
"Why, it would appear, your Majesty, that tea is a sort of stuff for dresses—silk, belike."
"Stuff for dresses!" said Rebecca. "Stuff and nonsense! Why, tea's a drink!"
"A beverage! Then how explain you this?" the Italian cried, triumphantly. Lifting the newspaper, he read from it the following passage: "The illustration shows a charming tea-gown, a creation of Mme. Décolleté."
"You see, Maestà—your Majesty—it is clear. A 'tea-gown' is shown in the drawing—a gown made of tea."
Rebecca had opened her mouth to overwhelm the poor savant with the truth when a page entered and stood before the Queen.
"Well, sirrah," said Elizabeth, "what is your message?"
"Sir Percevall Hart craves an audience, your Majesty, for himself and his American friend and client."
"Another American!" exclaimed the Queen.
"Copernicus Droop!" cried Rebecca.