Oberville. I’ve shrunk then?
Isabel. You couldn’t have grown bigger. Oh, I’m serious now; you needn’t prepare a smile. For years you were the tallest object on my horizon. I used to climb to the thought of you, as people who live in a flat country mount the church steeple for a view. It’s wonderful how much I used to see from there! And the air was so strong and pure!
Oberville. And now?
Isabel. Now I can fancy how delightful it must be to sit next to you at dinner.
Oberville. You’re unmerciful. Have I said anything to offend you?
Isabel. Of course not. How absurd!
Oberville. I lost my head a little—I forgot how long it is since we have met. When I saw you I forgot everything except what you had once been to me. (She is silent.) I thought you too generous to resent that. Perhaps I have overtaxed your generosity. (A pause.) Shall I confess it? When I first saw you I thought for a moment that you had remembered—as I had. You see I can only excuse myself by saying something inexcusable.
Isabel (deliberately). Not inexcusable.
Oberville. Not—?
Isabel. I had remembered.