[_Looking in the mirror._] I mean, though she admires you infinitely, she cannot love you. SHAKESPEARE: Cannot love me? Mistress Fitton! HERBERT: Who else? SHAKESPEARE: She told you she did not love me? HERBERT: [_Looking at his profile._] She did. SHAKESPEARE: Strange! HERBERT: Why strange? SHAKESPEARE: She does love me. HERBERT: [_Waving the mirror._] Admire, yes; but love, no! SHAKESPEARE: Love, yes! HERBERT: Friendship, affection, love if you will, but—but—not passion. SHAKESPEARE: Passion. Herbert: [_Throwing down the mirror._] Do you mean to say—— SHAKESPEARE: Yes. HERBERT: [_Indignantly._] What! What! Ha! Ha! Ha! The damned young minx! SHAKESPEARE: Why do you call her minx? HERBERT: Because—because she lied to me. SHAKESPEARE: No other reason? HERBERT: None! SHAKESPEARE: What object could she have in deceiving you, as to her love for me, you, my friend? HERBERT: [_Carelessly._] In faith I don’t know—a girl’s whim, I suppose. SHAKESPEARE: Strange—a girl seldom denies her love—and Mistress Fitton has courage. Most strange! HERBERT: Well, you must ravel out the tangle at some idle moment; it’s too knotty for me. Have you seen Chapman’s “Iliad”? I’ve just been reading it: ’tis as fine as Homer; don’t you think? SHAKESPEARE: I am not learned enough to judge. HERBERT: I hear you met Bacon the other day. What did you think of him? SHAKESPEARE: I know him too little—he’s Jonson’s friend—she denied me, you say, to you? HERBERT: She did. But now I must dress: you’ll forgive me. [_Takes up his sword-belt and buckles it on: looks for his gloves and cap. Shakespeare in the meantime moves to the table and catches sight of the tablets which Herbert has thrown down._] SHAKESPEARE: [_Picking up the tablets._] Oh, my divining soul! [_Turns to Herbert._] I pray you, of your courtesy; when did you see Miss Fitton last? HERBERT: [_Arranging his doublet before the mirror._] Yesterday, to-day. Why? SHAKESPEARE: [_Showing tablets._] When did she give you these? HERBERT: Those? where did you find them? SHAKESPEARE: She gave them to you? HERBERT: Mary Fitton? Yes. SHAKESPEARE: And _you_ took them, knowing they were my gift to her? HERBERT: How could I know that? SHAKESPEARE: She told you. You must have asked where the verses came from: she hates verses, and loves truth—truth! HERBERT: Don’t take it so tragic, man. A girl’s kiss, no weightier than a breath. SHAKESPEARE: A girl’s kiss, and a friend’s faith. No weightier than a breath. HERBERT: In love and war, none of us is to be trusted. SHAKESPEARE: So! HERBERT: It wasn’t all my fault—— SHAKESPEARE: [_Taking hold of him, and watching his face._] Not your fault! What? She tempted you—[_Herbert nods_]—and who could resist her? she tempted you! Oh, let her rot and perish and be damned; the foul thing! I am cold with loathing. HERBERT: