Pyrrhus.
[Shaking off the Priest.] Enough, enough!—Is your stranger in the hall, Andromache?
Andromache.
He is here, my lord; a man of good counsel, methinks, and like to be faithful to his guest-oath.
Pyrrhus.
He is happily come to a night of festival.—Stranger, you stand far from the fire.
[Orestes and Hermione have been trying to read one another's faces. Here Orestes turns bitterly, looks to the suits of armour on the wall, and chooses a seat near one.
Orestes.
Nay, I have a good seat.
Pyrrhus.