FullReads

Oberville. Now?

Isabel. Only this morning you were my supreme court of justice; there was no appeal from your verdict. Not an hour ago you decided a case for me–against myself! And now–. And the worst of it is that it’s not because you’ve changed. How do I know if you’ve changed? You haven’t said a hundred words to me. You haven’t been an hour in the room. And the years must have enriched you–I daresay you’ve doubled your capital. You’ve been in the thick of life, and the metal you’re made of brightens with use. Success on some men looks like a borrowed coat; it sits on you as though it had been made to order. I see all this; I know it; but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything… anywhere… I’m numb. (A pause.) Don’t laugh, but I really don’t think I should know now if you came into the room–unless I actually saw you. (They are both silent.)

Oberville (at length). Then, to put the most merciful interpretation upon your epigrams, your feeling for me was made out of poorer stuff than mine for you.

Isabel. Perhaps it has had harder wear.

Oberville. Or been less cared for?

Isabel. If one has only one cloak one must wear it in all weathers.

Oberville. Unless it is so beautiful and precious that one prefers to go cold and keep it under lock and key.

Isabel. In the cedar-chest of indifference–the key of which is usually lost.

Oberville. Ah, Isabel, you’re too pat! How much I preferred your hesitations.

Isabel. My hesitations? That reminds me how much your coming has simplified things. I feel as if I’d had an auction sale of fallacies.

Oberville. You speak in enigmas, and I have a notion that your riddles are the reverse of the sphinx’s–more dangerous to guess than to give up. And yet I used to find your thoughts such good reading.

Isabel. One cares so little for the style in which one’s praises are written.

Oberville. You’ve been praising me for the last ten minutes and I find your style detestable. I would rather have you find fault with me like a friend than approve me like a dilettante.

Isabel. A dilettante! The very word I wanted!

Oberville. I am proud to have enriched so full a vocabulary. But I am still waiting for the word I want. (He grows serious.) Isabel, look in your heart–give me the first word you find there. You’ve no idea how much a beggar can buy with a penny!

Isabel. It’s empty, my poor friend, it’s empty.

Oberville. Beggars never say that to each other.

Isabel. No; never, unless it’s true.

Oberville (after another silence). Why do you look at me so curiously?

Isabel. I’m–what was it you said? Approving you as a dilettante. Don’t be alarmed; you can bear examination; I don’t see a crack anywhere. After all, it’s a satisfaction to find that one’s idol makes a handsome bibelot.

Oberville (with an attempt at lightness). I was right then–you’re a collector?

Isabel (modestly). One must make a beginning. I think I shall begin with you. (She smiles at him.) Positively, I must have you on my mantel- shelf! (She rises and looks at the clock.) But it’s time to dress for dinner. (She holds out her hand to him and he kisses it. They look at each other, and it is clear that he does not quite understand, but is watching eagerly for his cue.)

Warland (coming in). Hullo, Isabel–you’re here after all?

Isabel. And so is Mr. Oberville. (She looks straight at Warland.) I stayed in on purpose to meet him. My husband–(The two men bow.)

Warland (effusively). So glad to meet you. My wife talks of you so often. She’s been looking forward tremendously to your visit.

Oberville. It’s a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Warland.

Isabel. But now we are going to make up for lost time. (As he goes to the door.) I claim you to-morrow for the whole day.

Oberville bows and goes out.

Isabel. Lucius… I think you’d better go to Washington, after all. (Musing.) Narragansett might do for the others, though…. Couldn’t you get Fred Langham to ask all the rest of the party to go over there with him to-morrow morning? I shall have a headache and stay at home. (He looks at her doubtfully.) Mr. Oberville is a bad sailor.

Warland advances demonstratively.

Isabel (drawing back). It’s time to go and dress. I think you said the black gown with spangles?