Don Pedro.

Perhaps she doesn’t see us. Let’s steal off, anyhow, on the chance.

[They creep off on tip-toe (r) as Beatrice enters with similar caution (l).

Beatrice.

[Watching them go.] Bother! I thought I should overhear what they were saying. I believe Benedick is really running away. It’s just as well. If he hadn’t, I should. He had really grown too dull for anything. [Sees note which Benedick has left.] Ah, so he’s left a message. “Farewell for ever,” I suppose. [Reads it. Stamps her foot.] Monster! If I ever see him again I’ll scratch him!

Curtain.


The Critic.