Vittia. Yolanda, does she know?
Smarda. Nothing.
Nothing. She was returning from the rocks
Where nest the windy gulls (gloatingly)
As I came hither. I stole there at noon
To see her suffer.
Vittia. Then.—I can compel her.
She will come here. Go to the curtains, see.
If she is near, the Paphian is in
The bower by the cypress: go, tell him,
The loggia—at once ... Ah!
(Yolanda enters.)
Yolanda (to herself). "Ah" indeed.
(Her look of purpose changes to one of distrust. But she firmly fronts to Vittia, as the slave slips out.)
Vittia. My gratitude! I wished, and you are here.
Yolanda. And—for some reason of less honour—you.
Vittia. I, a dear guest? fa!
Yolanda. Were you! and not one
This ne'er-before-envenomed air would banish.
(Slowly) One whose abiding
These walls would loathe aloud—had they a tongue
To utter.