[Exit, closing door. Herbert looks out into the garden.]
Herbert.
By all accursèd chances,—none but he!
[Retires up to stand beside the door, looking out of casement. Re-enter from the garden, Anne, followed by The Player.]
Anne.
No, 'twas some magic in my ears, I think.
There's no one here. [Seeing Herbert.]
But yes, there's someone here:—
The inn-keeper. Are you—
Saint Catherine's bones!
My Lord of Herbert. Sir, you could not look
More opportune. But for this gentleman—
Herbert [bowing].
My friend, this long time since,—
Anne.
Marry, your friend?
The Player [regarding Herbert searchingly].
This long time since.
Anne. Nay, is it so, indeed?
[To Herbert.] My day's fulfilled of blunders! O sweet sir,
How can I tell you? But I'll tell you all
If you'll but bear me escort from this place
Where none of us belongs. Yours is the first
Familiar face I've seen this afternoon!
Herbert [apart].
A sweet assurance.
[Aloud.] But you seek ... you need
Some rest—some cheer, some—Will you step within?
[Indicating tap-room.]
The tavern is deserted, but—
Anne. Not here!
I've been here quite an hour. Come, citywards,
To Whitehall! I have had enough of bears
To quench my longing till next Whitsuntide.
Down to the river, pray you.