I might ... of course, I must be glad or grieved,
Content or not, at every little thing
That touches you. I may with a wrung heart
Even reprove you, Mildred; I did more:
Will you forgive me?
Mil. Thorold? do you mock?
Or no ... and yet you bid me ... say that word!
Tresh. Forgive me, Mildred!—are you silent, Sweet?
Mil. [Starting up.] Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night?
Are you, too, silent?