A PLAYER [_dressed as a king, over_ HENSLOWE’S _shoulder_]. Are we never to come in? It’s as cold as charity since the sun set. ANNE. It’s no warmer here. A CHILD [_poking his head under the_ PLAYER’S _arm_]. I can’t feel my fingers. [ANNE _looks at him. Her face changes._] ANNE. If the fire warms you, you may warm yourselves. THE PLAYERS _stream in._ It does not warm me. Look! It cannot warm me. _She thrusts her hand into the flame._ HENSLOWE. God’s sake! _He pulls her back._ THE PLAYERS _stare and whisper together._ ANNE. Eyes! Needle eyes! Why do you stare and point? Like you I would have warmed myself. Vain, vain! It’s a strange hearth. You players are the first It ever warmed or welcomed. Charity? Who said it--“Cold as charity”? That’s love! But there’s no love here. Baby, stay away! You’ll freeze less out in churchyard night than here, For here’s not even charity. THE CHILD [_warming his hands_]. I’m not a baby. I’m nearly eleven. I’ve played children’s parts for years. I’m getting warmer. Are you? ANNE. No. CHILD. I like this house. I’d like to stay here. I suppose there are things in that cupboard? THE KING [_overhearing_]. Now, now! CHILD. That’s my father. He’s a king this week. He’s only a duke as a rule. Are there apples in that cupboard? Will you give me one? ANNE _goes to the cupboard and takes out an apple._ ANNE. Will you give me a kiss? CHILD. For my apple? ANNE. No, for love. CHILD. I don’t love you. ANNE. For luck, then. CHILD. You told him you’d got no luck. ANNE. Won’t you give me a kiss? CHILD. If you like. Don’t hold me so tight. Is it true you’ve no luck? Shall I tell your fortune? ANNE. Can you? CHILD. O yes! I’ve watched the Fates do it in the new play. It’s Orpheus and--it’s a long name. But she’s his lost wife. Give me a handkerchief! That’s for a grey veil. [_Posing._] Now say to me--“Who are you?” ANNE. Who are you? CHILD [_posing_]. Fate! Now you must say--“Whose fate?” ANNE. Whose? CHILD. Oh, then I lift the veil and you scream. [_Stamping his foot._] Scream! ANNE. Why, baby? CHILD [_frowning_]. At my dreadful face. [_But he begins to laugh in spite of himself._] ANNE [_her face hidden_]. Oh, child! Oh, child! CHILD. That’s right! That’s the way she cries in the play. You see the man goes down to hell to find his wife, and the Fates show her what’s going to happen while she’s waiting for him. She’s in hell already, waiting and waiting. It takes years to travel through hell. That’s her talking to the old man in rags and a crown. ANNE. Who’s he?