FullReads

HAROLD
. Yes. One of Jim’s old suits.

ISABEL.
Well, what if it is? It would fit you perfectly.

HAROLD.
Oh, Isabel! Can’t you see ?

ISABEL.
No, I can’t see.
If Jim is generous enough to give you a suit of clothes–

HAROLD.
Yes. That’s just it. Jim’s girl–Jim’s clothes–! Well–

( sullenly )
–I think Jim’s generosity has gone far enough.
I’ll be damned if I’ll take his clothes.

ISABEL
. You’re perfectly disgusting. If you weren’t a silly poet and didn’t know any better–Yes, Harold Falcington, for a nice boy as you are in most ways, you have the most antiquated and offensive ideas about women! Jim knows better than to have ever considered me his property….

HAROLD.
( taken aback by her fierceness )
Good heavens, Isabel, I didn’t mean that !

ISABEL.
Yes, you did, Harold; but I’m glad you’re sorry. It’s a good thing you were thrown out of Evanston, Illinois. It’s a good thing you came to Greenwich Village. And it’s a good thing that I’ve a strong maternal instinct. If you’ll just get the idea out of your head that you’re a ruined man and a lost soul because you’ve been talked about and have lost your job in your father’s office, and if you’ll just stop thinking that poor dear innocent Greenwich Village is a sink of iniquity and that I’m a wicked woman–

HAROLD.
Isabel! I never said you were a wicked woman!
I never thought such a thing!

ISABEL.
But you think you’re a wicked man;
and so it comes to the same thing. Look! it’s broad daylight.

( She goes to the window, and opens the curtains.)
Put out that candle, and read me the letter you’ve written to your wife.

She comes back, blows out the candle herself,

and sits down comfortably opposite him.

HAROLD.
No, I can’t.

ISABEL.
Why not? You’ve read me all the others. Is this just like them?

( Teasingly )
–“Dear Gertrude: I know you will not believe me when I say that I have been the victim of a monstrous injustice, but nevertheless it is true. It has all been a hideous mistake.” That’s the preamble. Then a regular lawyer’s brief, arguing the case–ten pages. Then a wild, passionate appeal for her to forget and forgive. I know how it goes. You’ve written one every night. This is the seventh.

HAROLD
. This one is different.

ISABEL
. Good. What does it say?

HAROLD.
It says that I am in love with you.

ISABEL.
Don’t prevaricate, Harold!
It says you are now hopelessly in the clutches of a vampire–doesn’t it?

HAROLD.
( desperately )

No!

ISABEL.
( warningly )

Harold! The truth!

HAROLD.
( weakening )

Well–

ISABEL.
I knew it! That’s what you would say.
You’ve told her it’s no use to forgive you now.

HAROLD.
Yes–I did say that–I don’t want her to forgive me, now.
I am reconciled to my fate.

ISABEL.
Ah–but I’m afraid it’s too late, now!

HAROLD.
What do you mean?

ISABEL.
I mean that your other letters will have done their work. Your wife by this time has been convinced of your innocence–she realizes that she has acted rashly–she is ready to forgive you. And she is probably at this moment on her way to New York to tell you so, and take you back home!