Oberville (falling into her mood) . You always made it to perfection. Only you never gave me enough sugar.
Isabel. I know better now. (She puts another lump in his cup.)
Oberville (drinks his tea, and then says, with an air of reproach). Isn’t all this chaff rather a waste of time between two old friends who haven’t met for so many years?
Isabel (lightly). Oh, it’s only a hors d’oeuvre—the tuning of the instruments. I’m out of practise too.
Oberville. Let us come to the grand air, then. (Sits down near her.) Tell me about yourself. What are you doing?
Isabel. At this moment? You’ll never guess. I’m trying to remember you.
Oberville. To remember me?
Isabel. Until you came into the room just now my recollection of you was so vivid; you were a living whole in my thoughts. Now I am engaged in gathering up the fragments—in laboriously reconstructing you....
Oberville. I have changed so much, then?
Isabel. No, I don’t believe that you’ve changed. It’s only that I see you differently. Don’t you know how hard it is to convince elderly people that the type of the evening paper is no smaller than when they were young?