Anne [who enjoys her answer and its effect upon him]. Only parts—never a whole letter. But it was such a pleasure to be able to talk about you to some one. My only pleasure.
Harold. Good heavens! You told people I wrote these letters? That we were engaged?
Anne. I didn't mean to, Harold. Really, I didn't. But I couldn't keep it dark. There were your telegrams.
Harold. My telegrams?!?
[She goes to desk and produces a bundle of dispatches.]
Anne [brazen in her sincerity]. You used to wire me every time you changed your address. You were very thoughtful, Harold. But, of course, I couldn't keep those secret like your letters.
Harold [standing helplessly, with the telegrams loose in his fingers]. My telegrams! Good Lord! [He opens one and reads.] "Leaving Rio for fortnight of inspection in interior. Address care Señor Miguel—" My telegrams!
[He flings the packet violently on the table, thereby almost upsetting a bowl of roses which he hastens to preserve.]
Anne. And then there were your flowers. I see you are admiring them.
[Harold withdraws as if the flowers were charged with electricity.]