The ball-room’s heat I fear has wearied thee.
[Tenderly supporting her.
Catharine [recovering].
Nay, heed it not; I long have been aweary.
Northlake.
Fair lady, tenderest fruit and hidden clings
Within its husk until full season. Now
Thou mayst remove thy mask, for in my heart
There’s sympathy that makes occasion ripe.
Catharine.
I see thou art a gallant gentleman;
I’d converse hold with thee, but pray that thou
Wouldst leave me to my mask.
Northlake.
Be it as thou dost wish;
But at the close of our sweet interview
I beg thou wilt disclose to me the face
Of her whose gentle hand I now do press
With all the ardor of my youthful days.