Vir. I am better, dear. Mamma! (Mrs. Clemm goes to her) I feel so rested, mamma.
Poe. I told you! She is better! And you will sit up a little now, dear? I will carry you to the fire.
Mrs. C. My boy!
Poe. O, mother, don’t you see how well she is? Look at her cheeks—her eyes—how beautiful!
Vir. (Smiling) Hear him, mamma! How proud he is! He must always have it that his wife is beautiful.
Poe. But it is so true, my dearest!
Vir. Let me believe it, for it is sweet to think that I have been that, at least, to you.
Poe. O, my darling, you have been everything!
Vir. You think so now, dear, and I love to hear you say it.
Poe. And you will get well for me?