“You speak aright, Your Highness,” answered he.
“Thou shalt come to me anon, thou pretty lad, for I would speak with thee further,” said the queen as she moved away. “Hast thou other children, my lord?”
“This is mine only one,” replied Lord Stafford.
“And was the welcome of your composing?” queried she.
“Nay; I am not so ready with the pen,” laughed Stafford. “I am not a Sidney, my 99 liege. Greville did it. Dost remember him?”
“Assuredly. Where is he? Ah, Greville,” as the tutor overwhelmed with rapture at her notice, threw himself on his knees before her, and seizing the hand which she graciously extended to him, covered it with kisses. “Art well?”
“Ah, madam, madam,” murmured the old man, “can you ask that when it hath been so long since I have been in your presence? As well expect the flower to flourish without the rays of the sun.”
“There, flatterer,” said the queen tapping him lightly on the shoulder to Francis’ amazement for she expected her to take no notice of such adulation. “Thou must come to the court oftener, Greville.”
Greville arose as she passed on, his face aglow with gratification.
“Child, is she not the most gracious, the most lovely of sovereigns?” he whispered to Francis.