MARY. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Good night, ma'am.
She goes.
GUENEVERE. Good-night, Mary. (She returns to her darning. She smiles to herself, then becomes serious, stops work, and looks at the clock. Then she says)—Vivien! Vivien's tears! Poor Lancelot! Oh, well! (She shrugs her shoulders, and goes on working. Then suddenly she puts down her work, rises, and walks restlessly about the room…. There is a knock at the door. She turns and stares at the door. The knock is repeated. She is silent, motionless for a moment. Then she says, almost in a whisper)—Come!
A young man enters.
GUENEVERE. Lancelot!
LANCELOT. Guenevere! (They go up to each other, and he takes both her hands. They stand that way for a moment. Then he says lightly) —Darning King Arthur's socks, I see!
GUENEVERE. (releasing herself, and going back to her chair) Yes.
Sit down.
LANCELOT. Where's his royal highness?
GUENEVERE. New York. Why don't you ever come to see us?
LANCELOT. (not answering) Charming domestic picture!