Desmond
Well, Lucy?
Lucy They are about to tax your uncle. What have you done to hasten the liberality of our widow?
Desmond I pressed her in a lively way. But she was pressing me in a lively way, also.
Lucy
Her love presses.
Desmond I pretend not to understand her passionate talk. But the less I seem to understand, the more she reveals. I can't hold her back. I had to leave her alone in the garden—where she stayed to hide her confusion. She sighs, she excites herself—
Lucy A declaration is coming. It wants to come forth. She will unburden her heart. She is meditating some passionate declaration which may be obscure—or plain enough.
Desmond All too plain, I fear. I see her coming. I am not going to wait to hear this.
(Exit Desmond.)
Widow (entering)
Where did he go, Lucy?
Lucy (pointing her in the wrong direction)
That way, I think.