Angels Ministers | Page 4

has bitten.
J.B. They do say, Ma'am, that if a mad dog bites you--you have to die barking. So if it's a cat-bite I'm going to die of, you'll hear me mewing the day, maybe.
QUEEN. I don't like cats: I never did. Treacherous, deceitful creatures! Now a dog always looks up to you.
J.B. Yes, Ma'am; they are tasteful, attractive animals; and that, maybe, is the reason. They give you a good conceit of yourself, dogs do. You never have to apologise to a dog. Do him an injury--you've only to say you forgive him, and he's friends again.
(_Accepting his views with a nodding smile, she resumes her pen, and spreads paper_.)
QUEEN. Now, Brown, I must get to work again. I have writing to do. See that I'm not disturbed.
J.B. Then when were you wanting to see your visitor, Ma'am? There's his chair waiting.
QUEEN. Ah, yes, to be sure. But I didn't want to worry him too soon. What is the time?
J.B. Nearly twelve, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Oh! then I think I may. Will you go and tell him: the Queen's compliments, and she would like to see him, now?
J.B. I will go and tell him, Ma'am.
QUEEN. And then I shan't want you any more--till this afternoon.
J.B. Then I'll just go across and take lunch at home, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Yes, do! That will be nice for you. And Brown, mind you have that leg seen to!
(_Mr. John Brown has started to go, when his step is arrested_.)
J.B. His lordship is there in the garden, Ma'am, talking to the Princess.
QUEEN. What, before he has seen _me_? Go, and take him away from the Princess, and tell him to come here!
J.B. I will, Ma'am.
QUEEN. And you had better take Mop with you. Now, dear Brown, do have your poor leg seen to, at once!
J.B. Indeed, and I will, Ma'am. Come, Mop, man! Come and tell his lordship he's wanted.
(EXIT _Mr. John Brown, nicely accompanied by Mop_.)
(_Left to herself the Queen administers a feminine touch or two to dress and cap and hair; then with dignified composure she resumes her writing, and continues to write even when the shadow of her favourite minister crosses the entrance, and he stands hat in hand before her, flawlessly arrayed in a gay frock suit suggestive of the period when male attire was still not only a fashion but an art.
Despite, however, the studied correctness of his costume, face and deportment give signs of haggard fatigue; and when he bows it is the droop of a weary man, slow in the recovery. Just at the fitting moment for full acceptance of his silent salutation, the Royal Lady lays down her pen_.)
QUEEN. Oh, how do you do, my dear Lord Beaconsfield! Good morning; and welcome to, Balmoral.
LORD B. (_as he kisses the hand extended to him_). That word from your Majesty brings all its charms to life! What a prospect of beauty I see around me!
QUEEN. You arrived early? I hope you are sufficiently rested.
LORD B. Refreshed, Madam; rest will come later.
QUEEN. You have had a long, tiring journey, I fear.
LORD B. It was long, Madam.
QUEEN. I hope that you slept upon the train?
LORD B. I lay upon it, Ma'am. That is all I can say truly.
QUEEN. Oh, I'm sorry!
LORD B. There were compensations, Ma'am. In my vigil I was able to look forward--to that which is now before me. The morning is beautiful! May I be permitted to enquire if your Majesty's health has benefited?
QUEEN. I'm feeling "bonnie," as we say in Scotland. Life out of doors suits me.
LORD B. Ah! This tent light is charming! Then my eyes had not deceived me; your Majesty is already more than better. The tempered sunlight, so tender in its reflections, gives--an interior, one may say--of almost floral delicacy; making these canvas walls like the white petals of an enfolding flower.
QUEEN. Are you writing another of your novels, Lord Beaconsfield? That sounds like composition.
LORD B. Believe me, Madam, only an impromptu.
QUEEN. Now, my dear Lord, pray sit down! I had that chair specially brought for you. Generally I sit here quite alone.
LORD B. Such kind forethought, Madam, overwhelms me! Words are inadequate. I accept, gratefully, the repose you offer me.
(_He sinks into the chair, and sits motionless and mute, in a weariness that is not the less genuine because it provides an effect. But from one seated in the Royal Presence much is expected; and so it is in a tone of sprightly expectancy that his Royal Mistress now prompts him to his task of entertaining her_.)
QUEEN. Well? And how is everything?
LORD B. (_rousing himself with an effort_). Oh! Pardon! Your Majesty would have me speak on politics, and affairs of State? I was rapt away for the moment.
QUEEN. Do not be in any hurry, dear Prime Minister.
LORD B. Ah! That word from an indulgent