VIVIEN. He'll have to get one, that's all. It won't take long. And in
the meantime we can be engaged.
GUENEVERE. A funny sort of engagement, Vivien--to a married man!
VIVIEN. I think you're very unkind, Gwen. It isn't funny at all. It's a
nuisance. We'll have to wait at least a month! I think you might
sympathize with me. I believe you're in love with him yourself.
GUENEVERE. (_coldly_) Vivien!
VIVIEN. (_contritely_) I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. But I do think
he's so terribly nice--I don't see how any woman can help being in love
with him. Well--I'm off to his studio, to learn my fate. Wish me luck,
if you can!
_She goes_.
GUENEVERE. (_looks after her, then drifts over to the mantel, leans
against it staring out into space, and then murmurs_)--Lancelot!
_She goes slowly back to her chair, sits still a moment, and then
quietly resumes the darning of socks.
Enter, from the side door, Mary, the pretty servant girl, who fusses
about at the back of the room_.
GUENEVERE. (_absently_) Going, Mary?
MARY. No, ma'am. I don't feel like going out tonight.
_Something in her tone makes Guenevere turn_.
GUENEVERE. (_kindly_) Why, Mary, what is the matter?
MARY. (_struggling with her sobs_) I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help
it--I wasn't going to say anything. But when you spoke to me--
GUENEVERE. (_quietly_) What is it, Mary?