"I have heard of him," carelessly replied Marian--"an indifferent good player. Our lady the queen hath taken some small notice of him. For my part, I wonder she should trouble about a beggarly strolling play-actor like this Jack Shakespeare. Now, Ben Jonson hath writ good plays, and he is of better birth and breeding than Tom Shakespeare--or Jack, or what you will." The depth of Macfarren's infatuation may be judged when he let this speech pass unchallenged. Although Marian ate heartily, yet the dinner was comparatively short, and Macfarren had no idea of ordering any dessert but the pudding. Before he knew it, however, the table had been cleared, and James had placed before them not only plum-pudding, but a strawberry ice and a dish of nuts and raisins. Lady Marian attacked the nuts first, cracking them between her small strong white teeth like a squirrel, and then said to Macfarren, "Lend me thy dagger for the pudding." Macfarren gazed at her stupidly. "Hast not thou a dagger?" she asked, impatiently. "These pointless blades I see here can cut nothing. Feel in thy belt." Mechanically Macfarren put his hand in his pocket, and, drawing out his penknife, opened the largest blade, and handed it to her. This seemed to pacify Marian, who with the assistance of her fingers, speedily disposed of the pudding. Then came the strawberry ice. With a silent but dreadful apprehension Macfarren watched her, and when something between a shriek and a groan pierced the air, he was the only person in the dining-room who was not surprised. Marian had gulped down half the plateful at once. Clapping her hands to her face, she rocked back and forth in her chair, evidently suffering agony. Several ladies half rose from their chairs; the head-waiter rushed forward; but Mrs. Van Tromp was already on the spot, holding Marian's hands. "Dear Lady Marian, tell us what it is," she asked, in soothing tones. "I know not," said Marian, faintly. "I think it must have been that evil stuff called potatoes. As soon as I had swallowed it I felt a giddiness, my head whirled, and I have heard it hath subtle and dangerous qualities." "It couldn't have been the potatoes, do you think?" said Mrs. Van Tromp. "Perhaps it was the ale." "Thou art a fool," responded Marian, tartly. "Dost thou think a Howard de Winstanley so lily-livered that one poor beaker of ale--and weak at that--could do this mischief?" Mrs. Van Tromp was considerably nettled by this speech, but the name Howard de Winstanley had not lost its magic. "Let us get out of here," said Macfarren, hurriedly; and, Marian rising, he offered her his arm, and, with Mrs. Van Tromp on the other side, they went out of the dining-room as they had entered it, and, as before, were the cynosure of all eyes.