HAROLD. What do you mean?
ISABEL. I mean that your other letters will have done their work. Your wife by this time has been convinced of your innocence—she realizes that she has acted rashly—she is ready to forgive you. And she is probably at this moment on her way to New York to tell you so, and take you back home!
HAROLD. (frightened) No!
ISABEL. Yes! If she is not already here and looking for you….
HAROLD. Impossible!
ISABEL. Those letters were very convincing, Harold!
HAROLD. (shaking his head) Not in the face of the universal belief of all Evanston in my guilt.
ISABEL. Then she has forgiven you anyway.
HAROLD. (sadly) You do not know her.
ISABEL. Don't I? No, Harold, this is to be our last breakfast together.
You wouldn't have her walk in on us, would you?—And that reminds me.
We're out of coffee. You must go and get some while I dress. And go to
the little French bakery for some brioches.