GLADSTONE. I thank you. Good-night.
(_The two guests have gone; and husband and wife are left alone. He
approaches, and stands near_.)
So Morley has told you, my dear?
MRS. G. That you are going down to Windsor to-morrow? Yes, William. You
will want your best frock-suit, I suppose?
GLADSTONE. My best and my blackest would be seemly under the
circumstances, my love. This treble-dated crow will keep the obsequies as
strict as Court etiquette requires, or as his wardrobe may allow. I have a
best suit, I suppose?
MRS. G. Yes, William. I keep it put away for you.
GLADSTONE (_after a meditative pause begins to recite_).
"Come, thou who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest,
Thou art, of what I did intend,
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet!"
Herrick, to his shroud, my dear! A poet who has the rare gift of being
both light and spiritual in the same breath. Read Herrick at his gravest,
when you need cheering; you will always find him helpful.
MRS. G. Then--will you read him to me to-night, William?
GLADSTONE. Why, certainly, my love, if you wish.
(_He stoops and kisses her_.)
MRS. G. (_speaking very gently_). I was waiting for that.
GLADSTONE. And I was waiting--for what you have to say.
MRS. G. I can say nothing.
GLADSTONE. Why, nothing?
MRS. G. Because I can't be sure of you, my dear.
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