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realize its essential artificiality. She was in a unique position; she could command amusement, homage, companionship from whoever she wished and no one could refuse her. It was not till spring of that year, when tongues had been wagging for weeks with scandals about her and Dudley, that she found she could no longer refuse Robert.
    They had come back from hunting. It had been a brilliant afternoon, cold enough to make the rough riding an invigorating pleasure, and she had come out into the Long Gallery after changing her hunting dress for a costume of warm red velvet. The colour suited her; her usually pale cheeks were flushed, her black eyes sparkled. The first person who came up to her, having hurried over his own change of clothing, was Robert Dudley; he was always the first to greet her, whatever she was doing or however long he had to wait. The Gallery was crowded; her ladies were sitting in the window-seats, or clustered round the two fires which burnt at either end of the long passageway. Their voices rose in a pleasant hum which ceased as she appeared in the doorway from her Privy Chamber.
    Smiling, Elizabeth gave her hand to Dudley.
    â€œTake me to the window, Robert; I’ve no mind to be surrounded by a crowd.”
    â€œNor have I,” he said quickly. “It’s a rare pleasure to have you to myself, Madam, even for a few minutes.”
    Elizabeth laughed.
    â€œYou’re always with me—don’t you ever tire of the same company?” She sat in the wide window-seat, spreading the vivid red skirts around her, the light of the setting sun turning her hair to copper.
    Dudley knelt on the floor at her feet; he was looking into her face when he answered and there was an expression in his eyes which she had never seen before. They were always laughing, darting with energy, seeing a dozen things at once; now it was as if a mask had dropped, and the man’s soul gazed at her, urgent, desperate, determined upon something.
    â€œI could never tire of you if I lived to be a hundred, Madam. Sometimes I don’t know which is the greater torture to me—seeing you every day and longing for you without hope, or trying to find the courage to leave you for ever.”
    She stiffened and the colour slowly left her fact.
    â€œWhat do you mean, leave me forever?—What are you saying?” Elizabeth repeated. “You cannot leave me unless I permit it!”
    â€œHow can I stay?”
    â€œWill you for Jesu’s sake stop talking riddles and come out with what you mean!” The flash of temper warned him but it exhilarated him too. He knew the signs of a quarrel between lovers; he had seen that expression on other women’s faces when he spoke of leaving.…
    â€œI cannot stay here,” Dudley said quietly, “… because I love you.”
    Suddenly she turned away from him; only her hands betrayed her. They were clenched till her rings cut into the flesh.
    â€œAll loyal subjects love the Queen.” Her voice was strained. “You are talking nonsense.”
    â€œI love the woman,” Dudley answered. “Say that you forgive me and will let me go.”
    Slowly Elizabeth faced him.
    â€œI love the woman.”
    He would not let her escape; he had destroyed her attempt at subterfuge, the opening she had offered him which would have allowed them to remain as they were.
    â€œYou have a wife, my Lord, have you forgotten her?”
    â€œCompletely. From the moment I saw you at Hatfield she ceased to exist.”
    It was as if they crossed swords, fencing with words and emotions as skilfully as two enemies in mortal combat. He was making a desperate bid for the unattainable, risking his future, his fortunes, possibly his life, and she knew that he understood not only the value of the prize but the penalty for failure if he had misjudged.
    â€œThen if you have forgotten her, what point is there in going back to her?”
    Her heart was beating so