Meg. I do offend.
Her. Offence now lies in silence. Speak, my lord.
Meg. When I left Goldusan, 'twas said—and with
No muffled hesitance—Prince Chartrien aids
The rebels there, and lays a train to rend
The State apart, that Cordiaz may drop
Into the gap,—then he with plausive cleat
Will make the fissure stanch, and seat himself
In unoppugnèd power.
Her. Why he is Hob! [Silence. They both rise]
A mad and sorry tale, you see.
Meg. I see.
He's in the capital?
Her. Beneath this roof.
The palace is his home. My father holds
His meagre millions guarded, nursing them
To a prince's portion.
Meg. We shall meet?
Her. To-night.
He's with a friend—a Spanish gentleman,—
But not from Goldusan.
Meg. I made no guess.
Her. Deny that with your eyes. Your tongue's exempt.