Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas

by Olive Tilford Dargan

Adr. Yes.

Soph. As the saints forgive, or for love of me?

Adr. For love of God, not you!

Soph. [Smiling] It's the same thing, isn't it?

Adr. [In embarrassment] I—what did you mean?

Soph. Come, sit down. [She takes a seat. He does not move] Do rest. You will drop. [He is silent] So you do not love me?

Adr. I have not time to amuse your highness——

Soph. [Rising] Nor I to be amused. I know the truth. You do love me. I saw it in your face when you thought I had been false. I knew then that I was more than a mere traitor. I was beloved. And in spite of the suffering—the sadness—the shame—I was glad.

Adr. [Trembling] Glad?

Soph. First, let me tell you that I am Petrizoff's spy. [He drops to a seat] He wanted to convict you. You are so important, it seems, that proof from a high source was necessary. I offered to supply it. [Smiles] Don't you see? I was afraid some one else might be successful.