Othello is dead, and the idea of meeting Othello in the flesh ten minutes later, smiling and triumphant, is a death-blow to that very reality which Margaret so much enjoyed.

Besides, she wanted to be alone with her own thoughts, which were not entirely confined to the stage, that night.
Writing to Claudius had brought him vividly into her life again, and she had caught herself more than once during the evening wondering how her fair Northern lover would have acted in Othello's place.

Whether, when the furious general takes Iago by the throat in his wrath, the Swede's grip would have relaxed so easily on one who should dare to whisper a breath against the Countess Margaret.

She so lived in the thought for a moment that her whole face glowed in the shade of the box, and her dark eyes shot out fire.

Ah me! Margaret, will he come back to stand by your side and face the world for you?
Who knows.