Anne [striking a tragic attitude]. You mean to say you don't care at all—that you have never cared?
Harold. Really, Miss Carey, I—
Anne. For heaven's sake, don't call me Miss Carey. Call me Anne.
Harold. Miss Carey.... Anne.... I.... Oh, you'd better let me go—let me get away before any one knows I'm here—before they think—
Anne. It's too late. They think already.
Harold. Think what? What do you mean?
Anne. Oh, this is terrible! Sit down, Harold, and listen to me. [She pushes him into a chair and begins to talk very rapidly, watching intently the effect of her words upon him.] You see, when you went away, people began to say things about us—you and me—about your caring. I let them go on. In fact I believed them. I suppose it was because I wanted so much to believe them. Oh, what a fool I've been! What a fool!
[She covers her face with her hands. He gets up intending vaguely to comfort her, but she thinks he is making another move to go, and jumps to her feet.]
Anne. And now you want to clear out like a thief in the night, and leave me to be laughed at! No, no, you can't do that! You must help me. You've hurt me to the very soul. You mustn't humiliate me before the world.
Harold. I'll do anything I can, Miss Carey.