[Stops, and holds it to him.] You may kiss it, too.
[He kisses her palm, then draws her to him and kisses her lips. She rises.] But now you must go: they’ll be coming.
Shakespeare:
[Rising.] And when am I to see you again—when? [Watching her face.] To-day? [She shakes her head.] To-morrow? Next day? When? These hours of absence make me hunger for you till I faint. Be pitiful, sweet. The touch of your hand gives me life. When you go, my heart shrinks and lies here aching-cold till I see you again.
Miss Fitton:
[Listening.] I’m afraid they’ll come in and——
Shakespeare:
[Imploringly.] You have not told me when I may see you again.
Miss Fitton:
To-morrow I’m busy. Thursday? Yes, Thursday, at Lady Rutland’s. She’ll be in waiting here.