It began to seem hopeless for Mistress Anne to continue in such a strain of severity. For a moment she used her will in order to punish this audacity, but in the next she was trembling upon the verge of open laughter. Still the consciousness that she was no less a person than the only daughter and heiress of Sir John Feversham, the Constable of Nottingham Castle and chief justice of the forest of Sherwood, was just able to save her from that which could only have been regarded in the light of a disaster. “I would fain inform you, mistress, there are play-actors whom even the Queen approves.” Alas! Mistress Anne had a full share of the cynical irreverence of youth. “I am not at all surprised to learn that, sir. I have even been told that the Queen dyes her hair.” The effect of a speech so daring was to startle Master Tidey quite visibly. The world looks to one of his craft to have a conventional mind, and there was no doubt the times were perilous. The shears almost fell from his hand. If this was not treason, might he never sew another doublet! The play-actor, however, was of a fiber less delicate. It was as much as Mr. William Shakespeare could do to refrain from open laughter. “May I ask, mistress,” he said, “what is your warrant for such a grave charge against the Queen’s Majesty?” “The warrant of my own eyes, sir. Her hair was certainly dyed when she stayed at the Castle a month since.” “But bethink you, mistress, might it not appear less treasonable if Gloriana’s true subjects presumed her hair to be a wig?” “Let them presume nothing, sir, but that which is the truth.” “To so pious a resolve even a poor actor may say amen.” Mistress Anne realized that she was no match for this man. The only hope for her dignity lay in a cool scorn of him. Suddenly the gloriously straight back was turned disdainfully. Let the greatest lady for ten miles beware how she chopped logic with a strolling actor. “Master Tailor, I would have you devise me a second pair of these right excellent breeches, in every particular as the first, and do you have them at the Castle against the first of May.” Master Tidey bowed low. “Good-day to you, Master Tailor.” Master Tidey bowed still lower with that clear and proud speech in his ears. With chin held high, and with an arrogant, free-swinging carriage, Mistress Anne Feversham went forth of the tailor’s shop. But even then, abrupt as was the manner of her going, she had to submit to the play-actor’s leaping to the door before she could reach it herself. He opened it and held it for her with the grace and dignity of a courtier. She passed imperiously, without yielding him a glance or a “Thank you.” A dashing young man in the livery of a falconer was holding the young blood-horse of Mistress Anne outside the tailor’s door. He was handsomely mounted on an animal similar to the one he held for his mistress. On his fist was a small falcon, hoodwinked and fessed.