It sounds rather
_rococo_, doesn't it? It was odd that she died the year after we were
married.
_Warland_. Whew!
_Isabel (following her own thoughts)_. I've never seen him since; it must
be ten years ago. I'm certainly thirty-two, and I was just twenty-two
then. It's curious to talk of it. I had put it away so carefully. How it
smells of camphor! And what an old-fashioned cut it has! _(Rising.)_
Where's the list, Lucius? You wanted to know if there were to be people at
dinner tonight--
_Warland_. Here it is--but never mind. Isabel--(_silence_) Isabel--
_Isabel_. Well?
_Warland_. It's odd he never married.
_Isabel_. The comparison is to my disadvantage. But then I met you.
_Warland_. Don't be so confoundedly sarcastic. I wonder how he'll feel
about seeing you. Oh, I don't mean any sentimental rot, of course... but
you're an uncommonly agreeable woman. I daresay he'll be pleased to see
you again; you're fifty times more attractive than when I married you.
_Isabel_. I wish your other investments had appreciated at the same rate.
Unfortunately my charms won't pay the butcher.
_Warland_. Damn the butcher!
_Isabel_. I happened to mention him because he's just written again; but I
might as well have said the baker or the candlestick-maker. The
candlestick-maker--I wonder what he is, by the way? He must have more
faith in human nature than the others, for I haven't heard from him yet. I
wonder if there is a Creditor's Polite Letter-writer which they all
consult; their style is so exactly alike.
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