Beat that!

(_The FAIR PAGE throws and makes a movement of annoyance_.)

FAIR PAGE. Best of three?

DARK PAGE. Yes. (_He throws_.)

FAIR PAGE. (_throwing a good one_). Ah!

(_The DARK PAGE sees the King and tries to struggle to his feet, but RICHARD subdues him with a hand on his shoulder_.)

RICHARD. No, no, Go on with the game. Who is winning?

DARK PAGE. We are even, sir.

RICHARD. What! After a whole afternoon—.

FAIR PAGE. Oh, no, sir. On this throw. Up till now I’ve been unlucky. In fact, I’m practically ruined, sir.

(_Enter, left, ANNE, the Queen. She is not beautiful, but she has great charm, with dignity breaking every now and then to discover a bidden mischief, and humour always in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She pauses to watch._)

RICHARD. (_flipping the boy’s tunic with his finger_). What! with your new coat still to play for? Poof! (_The FAIR PAGE sees ANNE, and begins to rise, but RICHARD pushes him back._)

RICHARD. Running away when you’re losing! Oh, John!

FAIR PAGE. The Queen, sir.

RICHARD. (_turning_). Anne! (_To the pages, who have risen, he makes a good-humoured gesture of dismissal, as one shoos chickens, and they go out._) Anne!

ANNE. (_indicating her toilette with a slight, calm movement_). Well, do you like it?

RICHARD. My dear, it’s magnificent. Even that absurd thing is lovely on your head.

ANNE. You know you like it very well. You’re jealous because I’ve made it the rage. You like to keep the prerogative of making things the rage to yourself, you and Robert. But your little barbarian wife is beating you at your own game.