He turned instantly.
"My name is not for public hearing to-night," he said quickly. "And, God of Heaven, boy, how did you know me?"
The young man flushed.
"You used to come to the 'Rose' in Charing Cross—near here, you remember? My uncle kept it——"
Arthur Herbert smiled.
"Yes—I remember; and who are you?"
"A scholar at St. John's now," answered the youth, in the same eager, excited way; "that is thanks to my Lord Dorset——"
"Why, I recall," said Mr. Sidney; "'tis my lord's last genius, sure—he who wrote a satire against the court last year with one Charley Montague—a parody on Mr. Dryden's bombast, which sorely vexed him——"
"The same, sir," answered the young man, flushing deeper with pleasure. "Lord Dorset is the Mæcenas of the age, as I have truly found——"
"Well," said the Admiral, "you seem a likely spark—stick to your Pope-burning and you'll find yourself at Court yet—that is good advice. What is your name? I don't read poetry."