[Some one knocks at door, C.; Miss Fitton enters dressed in a man’s cloak and hat.]
Miss Fitton:
Am I late?
Shakespeare:
Late! I have been here for hours, walking up and down like a beast in a cage, listening for the step that never comes. When Hope has died and the ashes are cold, you come.
Miss Fitton:
Perhaps I should not have come: would that have been better?
Shakespeare:
I don’t know: I am worn out with waiting.
Miss Fitton: