"This must be some sovereign princess in her own country, my lord. How comes it I have not had earlier intelligence of her arrival in this realm?" Lord Burleigh bowed profoundly and mumbled something about its being out of his immediate province--he would have investigation made--etc., etc. The Queen cut him short a little impatiently. "Let it be done, my lord," she said. Then turning to Rebecca, she continued: "Our welcome is somewhat tardy, but none the less sincere. England hath e'er been friendly to the American, and you had been more fittingly received had our informants been less negligent." Here the Queen shot a glance at poor Sir Walter Raleigh, who now seemed the personification of discomfiture. "By what name are you called?" Elizabeth continued. "Wise," said Rebecca, very graciously, "Rebecca Wise." "Lady Rebecca, will you sit nearer?" Instantly one of the pages sprang forward with a low chair, which, in obedience to a sign from the Queen, he placed at her right hand. "Why, I'd be right pleased," said Rebecca. "That is, if the other folks don't mind," she continued, looking around. "I don't want to spile your party." So saying, she advanced and sat beside the Queen, who now turned once more to the luckless Raleigh. "Well, Sir Walter," she said, "what say you now? You have the printed proof. Can you make aught of it? How comes it that in all your fine travels in the New World you have heard no English spoken?" "Oh, I dare say 'tain't his fault!" said Rebecca, indulgently. "I'm told they have a mighty queer way o' talkin' down South, where he's ben. Comes o' bein' brought up with darkies, ye know." Elizabeth took up the newspaper once more. "Was this printed in your realm, Lady Rebecca?" she asked. "Hey!" Elizabeth started haughtily, but recollected herself and repeated: "Was this leaf printed in your country?" "Oh, yes--yes, indeed! Down to New York. Pretty big paper, ain't it?" "Not voluminous alone, but right puzzling to plain English minds," said the Queen, scanning the paper severely. "Instance this." Slowly she read the opening lines of a market report: "The bulls received a solar-plexus blow yesterday when it was reported that the C. R. and L. directors had resigned in a body owing to the extensive strikes." "What words are these?" Elizabeth exclaimed in a despairing tone. "What is a plexus of the sun, and how doth it blow on a bull?" Rebecca jumped up and brought her head close to the Queen's, peering over the paper which she held. She read and reread the paragraph in question and finally resumed her chair, slowly shaking her head. "I guess that's the Wall Street talk I've heerd tell of," she said. "I don't understand that kind myself." "Why, Sir Walter," Elizabeth exclaimed, triumphantly, "here have we two separate tribes at least, each speaking its proper dialect. Can it be that you have heard no word of these before?"