Then followed a strange scene.
“Sir Sorley Boy,” began the Deputy, motioning his guest to a high chair on the daïs, “this is a happy occasion; and I would her Majesty had a Deputy more—”
“Enough of this,” said the Chieftain impatiently. “I came not from Dunluce to make speeches or bandy words with you. I owe you naught—or if I do, ’tis a debt you had rather I paid not.”
“I,” said Sir John, pulling himself up, “as representing her gracious Majesty—”
Here Sorley Boy stalked off to where a miniature picture of her Majesty hung on the wall.
“Is this Elizabeth?” demanded he.
“That is a presentment, far short in splendour, of her Majesty’s admirable presence,” said the Deputy.
Sorley Boy took the picture in his hand and mused on it in silence. At length:
“Pray heaven she be no worse favoured in the flesh! Yet, being a woman, I do her homage.”
And, like an old gallant, he doffed his hat, and raised the picture to his lips.