Emily. And is that all you have to say to me?
Peter. I think so—save that I shall wish you well,
And pray that henceforth you may bear in mind
What vast importance lies in seeming trifles.
Emily (with a pale smile). Peter, your lesson is already learned,
For precious has this pin become for me,
Since by its aid I gain oblivion—thus! [Stabs herself.
Peter (coldly.) Nay, these are histrionics, Emily.
[Assists her to sofa.
Emily. I'd skill enough to find a vital spot.
Do not withdraw it yet—my time is short,
And I have much to say before I die.
(Faintly.) Be gentle with my rabbits when I'm gone;
Give my canary chickweed now and then.
... I think there is no more—ah, one last word—
(Earnestly)—Warn them they must not cut our wedding-cake,
And then the pastrycook may take it back!
Peter (deeply moved). Would you had shown this thoughtfulness before! [Kneels by the sofa.
Emily. 'Tis now too late, and clearly do I see
That I was never worthy of you, Peter.
Peter (gently). 'Tis not for me to contradict you now.
You did your best to be so, Emily!
Emily. A blessing on you for those generous words!
Now tell me, Peter, how is your poor foot?