CYNTHIA, LORD TOUCHWOOD.
CYNT. My lord musing!
LORD TOUCH. He has a quick invention, if this were suddenly designed. Yet he says he had prepared my chaplain already.
CYNT. How's this? Now I fear indeed.
LORD TOUCH. Cynthia here! Alone, fair cousin, and melancholy?
CYNT. Your lordship was thoughtful.
LORD TOUCH. My thoughts were on serious business not worth your hearing.
CYNT. Mine were on treachery concerning you, and may be worth your hearing.
LORD TOUCH. Treachery concerning me? Pray be plain. Hark! What noise?
MASK. (within) Will you not hear me?
LADY TOUCH. (within) No, monster! traitor! No.
CYNT. My lady and Maskwell! This may be lucky. My lord, let me entreat you to stand behind this screen and listen: perhaps this chance may give you proof of what you ne'er could have believed from my suspicions.
