ISABEL. You'll have to expose that dream to worse things than polite laughter, my dear.
MRS. FALCINGTON. I can, now. It won't get hurt. I'm free now to take care of my dream—to fight for it—to mike it come true. You have set me free.—I'm going to go and get a room—now!
ISABEL. Let me go with you and help you find one!
MRS. FALCINGTON. And to-morrow—
ISABEL. To-morrow—
Harold enters. He stops short in the doorway, and drops the brioches. He looks at one woman, then at the other. Suddenly he goes between them with arms outspread as though to keep the peace.
HAROLD. No! no! I am not worthy of either of you! (They stare at him, bewildered. He goes on)—Why should you struggle over me? Do not hate each other! For my sake, be friends! Ah, God, that this tragic meeting should have happened! And now I must decide between you…. (He goes to Mrs. Falcington and throws himself on his knees before her.) Forgive and forget! Come back with me to Evanston!
MRS. FALCINGTON (over his head to Isabel) The perfect egotist!
The curtain falls, and then rises again for a moment. Harold is now on his knees to Isabel.
HAROLD. Marry me!