GUENEVERE. That's not the right answer. You know perfectly well you want to do nothing of the sort. What! Scandalize everybody, and ruin my reputation, and break Vivien's heart?
LANCELOT. No—I don't suppose I really want to do any of those things.
GUENEVERE. Then do you want us to conduct a secret and vulgar intrigue?
LANCELOT. (hurt) Guenevere!
GUENEVERE. You realize, of course, that this madness of ours might last no longer than a month?
LANCELOT. (soberly) Perhaps.
GUENEVERE. Well, do you still want to kiss me?—Think what you are saying, Lancelot, for I may let you. And that kiss may be the beginning of the catastrophe. (She moves toward him.) Do you want a kiss that brings with it grief and fear and danger and heartbreak?
LANCELOT. No—
GUENEVERE. Then what do you want?
LANCELOT. I want—a kiss.