It fits not him that wears it. I have wronged him!
He can’t be happy—does not look it—is not!
That eye which reads the ground is argument
Enough. He loves me. There I let him stand,
And I am sitting!
(Rises, and points to a chair.)
Pray you, take a chair.
(He bows as acknowledging and declining the honor. She looks at him awhile.)
Clifford, why don’t you speak to me!
(Weeps.)