Lennox. Mansions? I hate them. Great chambers in which one must shiver in cold state because one is poor, great chairs in which one must sit very straight and look wise, great windows where the snow and rain beat and trickle in, or little ones which bar the sun. In Scotland they are like that, little and narrow in the great castles. I hate them.
Elizabeth [proudly]. In England we have great windows secure against storms. You should see my mother’s house at Hardwick, Charles. It has high windows. And so fair the house. And she says she will build one there still greater and fairer.
Lennox. But I desire no great house. You are little, I am not great.... I want a little house, a bower....
Elizabeth. My Lord....
Lennox [with his arm about her]. A bower with you, which I would build out of the trees, my own self, like the knight who loved the lady.
Elizabeth. Ah? Who was she?
Lennox. A lady, like you, Elizabeth, and not much taller, so I take it. I read of her in a little book. See ... here it is. [Pulls a volume out of the bosom of his jerkin.] My brother Darnley gave it me once. It is a love tale, all in French, and very curious.
Elizabeth. Read it to me, Charles.
Lennox. Sweetheart, I cannot read it all because the words are so strange, but my brother writ portions of the rightful meanings on the margins.... Come ... let us sit.... [He draws her to a place under the trees.]
Elizabeth. Charles ... I am afraid....