Shakespeare:
One may admire stars, my lord, at a distance.
Lacy:
Do we adorate because of the distance? Ha! Ha! [Bows with gesture. Shakespeare bows and goes out. Lacy turns to Miss Fitton.] So the Queen of gipsies has enslaved the player-poet, and violet eyes will lose their blue with weeping.
Miss Fitton:
Violet eyes?
Lacy:
Violet eyes and honey-coloured hair—a nymph of the morning!
Miss Fitton:
Whom are you talking about?