"Your horses are a scandalous lot of crocks, and I wouldn't have them at a gift; but done, sir! and I hope you'll win my dog."
"And so do I!"
The voice, our Lady's voice, came thrilling clear from the head of the lower stairway, at which the three Guardsmen sprang to attention, and the civilian bolted. So her Majesty came forward attended by her retinue of the Guard, and wearing her uniform as its captain.
Branscombe provided her a seat, Browne, kneeling, presented the cup of wine, the escort, breaking ranks, piled arms and awaited her pleasure.
"There," she said, laughing. "I'm tired enough to love my home. Stand forward, Sergeant Branscombe," said our Lady, and her eyes twinkled, for she dearly loved a jest. "You are charged with betting one spotted dog against your sovereign."
Branscombe prayed for the pavement to swallow him.
"I had no more," he stammered.
"One spotted dog or fifty, the same crime, Sergeant. I condemn you to quarter on your shield of arms a spotted dog proper bearing the legend: 'I am Lancaster's.' And you, Tom of Lancaster, get to bed, and behave yourself on pain of a severe course of mustard plasters—off with you! Gentlemen," she raised her cup, "I pledge the Guard."
We heard a trumpet blown outside the gates, and at the sound our Lady let the cup fall, watching it roll slowly across the floor.
"Go down," she said, "Gentlemen of 'B' squadron—receive this visitor—pay him all possible honour, and bring him here."