[Rises.]
Mayst thou be happy. [Going.]
Wal. Wouldst ensure the thing
Thou wishest?
[She moves towards the door with a gesture that prohibits further converse.]
Stop! [She continues to move on.]
Oh, sternly resolute! [She still moves.]
I mean thee honour!
[She stops and turns towards him.]
Thou dost meditate—
I know it—flight. Give me some pause for thought,
But to confirm a mind almost made up.
If in an hour thou hearest not from me, then
Think me a friend far better lost than won!
Wilt thou do this?
Lydia. I will.
Wal. An hour decides.
[They go out severally.]