James. And a most touching speech, too! And then?
Rosamund. We shook hands, and he tore himself away, stifling a sob. Don't forget, he was a boy.
James. Have the four years expired?
Rosamund. What is the date of that postcard? Let me see it. [Snatches it, and smiles at the handwriting pensively.] July 4th—four years ago.
James. Then it's over. He's not coming. To-day is July 5th.
Rosamund. But yesterday was Sunday. He wouldn't come on Sunday. He was always very particular and nice.
James. Do you mean to imply that you think he will come to-day and demand from you an affirmative? A moment ago you gave me to understand that in your opinion he would have—er—other affairs to attend to.
Rosamund. Yes. I did think so at the time. But now—now I have a kind of idea that he may come, that after all he may have remained faithful. You know I was maddeningly pretty then, and he had my photograph.
James. Tell me, have you corresponded?
Rosamund. No, I expressly forbade it.