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ROMIERO.

Then! 't is not Beatrice he comes to visit?

JEROME.

It does not so appear; it may,—it may not.

ROMIERO.

Why dost thou hesitate and stammer thus?

Art thou afraid to speak? What is the matter?

JEROME.

Nothing, my Lord, but you did fix your eyes

With such a keen intenseness on my face,
I fear'd I might offend.

ROMIERO.

How fear'd, unless the thing thou hast to say

Should be of bad import?

JEROME.

As I breathe life,

Nothing of good or bad import have I
To tell your honour.

ROMIERO.

Well, well! be it so.

Thy strange bewilder'd face made me suspect thee.
Why dost thou wait?

JEROME.

Your further pleasure, Sir.