I think it will. But for me . . . He took me in his arms—a moment's fury—fire to slake fire, and that is all. That is my most of love. Why should I not be dangerous?
Beaton: Do you love my lord Bothwell?
Mary: A little of me—a moment. There is so much else to deny myself, after all. But he means so little more than the others. Still, a little—it is something.
- (Darnley comes in)
Darnley: Where has he gone?
Mary: Who?
Darnley: Who? The Italian.
Mary: He is in his room, I think.
Darnley: I saw him go down the far stair as I came in from the yard.
Mary: You are mistaken, I think. Beaton, will you see?
- (Beaton goes out)
Darnley: You know his movements well. But some one went down.
Mary: You are curious.
Darnley: Yes, Madam. I must watch these fellows.
