Oberville. Isabel!
Isabel. But now—
Oberville. Ah, give me a moment before you unsay it!
Isabel. I don’t mean to unsay it. There’s no use in repealing an obsolete law. That’s the pity of it! You say you lost me ten years ago. (A pause.) I never lost you till now.
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.