"Know you Sir Percevall's friend, Lady Rebecca?" asked Elizabeth.
"Why, yes, your Majesty. He and I came over together from Peltonville. I believe he's after a patent."
"A patent? What mean you? Doth he ask for a patent of nobility—a title? Can this be the suit of the fat knight?"
"I don't know," said Rebecca. "'Tain't nothin' 'bout nobility, I'm sure, though. It's a patent on a phonograph, I b'lieve."
"Know you aught of this, my lord?" said Elizabeth, turning to Burleigh.
"Why, yes, your Majesty. I have to-day received from Sir Percevall Hart a letter written by my nephew, Francis Bacon——"
"Bacon! What! Ay—methinks we know somewhat of this same Francis," said the Queen, grimly. "A member of Parliament, is he not?"
"Even so, your Majesty," said Burleigh, somewhat crestfallen. "From this letter I learn," he continued, while Elizabeth shook her head, "that this American—a Master Dupe, I believe——"
"No—no—Droop!" cried Rebecca. "Copernicus Droop."
The baron bowed.