Presently appeared these two distinguished gentlemen, true ornaments of their age. Each was a singularly handsome man, not yet in middle life; each had the marked ease of bearing of those who are very familiar with their surroundings. The Queen received them with the rough humor, caustic, witty and by no means unpleasant, which she inherited from her father and kept for her intimates.
“Well, my friends,” she said, “I’ll wager a tester I know already what is your good pleasure.”
“Your grace were infinitely less in wisdom were the case otherwise,” said Pembroke.
“You have come to plead the cause, I do not doubt, of a very foolish and wicked man.”
The silence of Pembroke gave assent to the harsh words.
“Well, my lord, I hope you are prepared as is Master Burbage here to yield your life for him.”
“If it were our privilege, your grace, to do that, we should be greater men than we are like to be—with all respect to Sir Walter here—in the eyes of posterity.”
“A pox upon posterity! Who cares a fig for it? The hour in which we live alone matters to all of us. But tell me, my lord, why do you choose to concern yourself with the matter of this foolish play-actor? And also I would have you make known your wishes in regard to him.”
“Touching your grace’s first question,” said Pembroke, “I am honored by the friendship of one whom I esteem beyond all other men, and for whose deliverance I will gladly pay into the treasury as round a sum as I can well afford.”
The Queen gave a grunt of disgust. The raddled face wore a very unpleasant look.