The wedding feast is over and the guests are going home; in Brutus's garden the torchlight flickers and dims. Portia is going inside, unwinding the garland from her hair, but pauses, seeing Brutus and Cassius still inside the gate.
"Brutus, 'tis struck three. Wilt not get thee to bed?"
"I will come presently, dear wife."-- a small happy smile from Portia.
Cassius's hand is on Brutus's shoulder and his mouth moves; she thinks she hears him congratulating Brutus on his marriage, though he always speaks low. She enters, letting the palla slip from her shoulder to her arm. Waving away the servant with his lit candle, she goes to a window overlooking the garden.
They are too close, for friends. She knows what they are; it is usual, it does not matter as long as he comes home to her.
Cassius is truly sorry to hear that she is dead.
