MARION. Isobel!
ISOBEL. Such a long time ago. I was young then, and pretty then, and the world was very full then of beautiful things. I used to laugh then—we laughed together—such a gay world it was all those years ago. And he asked me to marry him.... (In a hard voice) I didn’t. I sent him away. I said that I must stay with my father, Oliver Blayds, the great poet. Yes, I was helping the great poet. (With a bitter laugh) Helping!... And I sent my man away.
SEPTIMA (distressed). Oh, don’t!
ISOBEL. You thought I liked nursing. “A born nurse”—I can hear you saying it. (Fiercely it bursts out after all these years) I hated it! Do you know what it’s like nursing a sick old man—day after day, night after night? And then year after year. Always a little older, a little more difficult. Do you know what it is to live with an old man when you are young, as I was young once, to live always with old age and never with youth, and to watch your own youth gradually creeping up to join his old age? Ah, but I was doing it for Blayds, for the sake of his immortal poetry. (She laughs—such a laugh) And look at me now, all wasted. The wife I might have been, the mother I might have been. (In a whisper) How beautiful the world was, all those years ago!
(They say nothing, for there is nothing to say. ISOBEL looks in front of her, seeing nothing which they can see. Very gently they go out, leaving her there with her memories....)
ACT III[242]
Afternoon, three days later. ROYCE is at the desk, at work on a statement for publication. He has various documents at hand, to which he refers from time to time. OLIVER comes in.
OLIVER. Hallo!
ROYCE (without looking up). Hallo!
OLIVER (after waiting hopefully). Very busy! (He sits down.)