Anne. Anne!
Harold. Anne, I mean. But how?
Anne [after a moment's thought, as if the idea had just come to her]. You must stay here. You must pretend for a few days—for a week at most, that we're engaged.
Harold. I can't do that, you know. Really, I can't.
Anne [going to him]. Why not? Only a little while. Then you'll go away to India. We'll find it's been a mistake. I'll break it off,—it will only be a pretense, of course, but at least no one will know what a fool I've been.
Harold [after a moment's hesitation]. Miss Carey—Anne, I mean, I'll do anything I can, but not that! A man can't do that. You see, there's a girl, an English girl, down in Brazil, I—
Anne. Oh, a girl! Another! Well, after all, what does that matter? Brazil is a long way off. She need never know.
Harold. She might hear. You can't keep things like this hid. No. I wouldn't risk that. You'd better let me clear out before your family gets home. No one need ever know I've been here.
[Again he makes a move toward the door. Anne stands motionless.]
Anne. You can't go. You can't. It's more serious than you imagine.