Violet:
[Rouses herself.] Yes, Portia. Who were you thinking of when you described Portia? She’s one of your new friends, I suppose, one of the great Court ladies. H’m! They’re no better than we are. Some of them were at the play but now talking with Kempe, the clown. Ladies, indeed! trulls would behave better.
Shakespeare:
My gentle Violet, in a rage.
Violet:
Oh, they make me angry. Why can’t they be noble? I mean pure and sweet and gentle, instead of laughing loud and using coarse words like those women did to-day. Was Portia one of them?
Shakespeare:
No, Violet, no. I meant Portia to be a great lady. Her carriage and manner I took from someone I once saw at a distance—a passing glance: but the wit and spirit I had no model for, none.
Violet:
You will love one of them, I know. Perhaps, by speaking of it, I put the thought into your head, and bring the danger nearer; but I cannot help it.