ISABEL. Sit down. MRS. FALCINGTON. Than...

Poor Harold

Isabel Summers Mrs. Falcington

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ISABEL. Sit down.

MRS. FALCINGTON. Thank you. I will. (She does so.) Harold is out?

ISABEL. Yes. (A pause) Getting brioches for breakfast. (A pause) You look tired. Won't you have some coffee? It's ready.

MRS. FALCINGTON. Thank you. Yes.

Both the women give an impression of timid courage.

ISABEL. (pouring the coffee) He ought to be back soon. He talked of getting lost in the crooked streets of the Village, and I'm afraid that's what has happened to him.

MRS. FALCINGTON. Yes. Harold is all at sea in a strange place.

She takes the coffee and sips it.

ISABEL. Tell me—how did you know?

MRS. FALCINGTON. (smiling) Private detectives.

ISABEL. (a little shocked) Oh!

MRS. FALCINGTON. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not going to make any trouble…. But I did want to know what became of him.

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