Mother. Will you not take a seat, and make yourself comfortable? I must to the kitchen, Clara thinks of nothing when you are here. You must put up with what we have.
Egmont. Your good-will is the best seasoning.
[Exit Mother.
Clara. And what then is my love?
Egmont. Just what thou wilt.
Clara. Liken it to anything, if you have the heart.
Egmont. But first. (He flings aside his mantle, and appears arrayed in a magnificent dress.)
Clara. Oh heavens!
Egmont. Now my arms are free! (Embraces her.)
Clara. Don't! You will spoil your dress. (She steps back.) How magnificent! I dare not touch you.